The Next DC Power Couple?
by smileyanne
Summary: She's the Director of NCIS, but he's not her agent. He's not her agent, or her former boss, and they never had Paris. Nope, instead he's the Director of the FBI. Will a brand new Director Shepard, and Director Gibbs fall for each other? If they do, will they crash and burn? Or will they go onto become the next DC power couple? Completely AU. Set around season 3.
1. Prologue

_A/N: Yes, though this probably well-might never be published, I'm so excited that whatever was wrong with the system earlier today is over with! Now I'm gonna see if I can make a story out of this idea. All I can say is that this 'whatever' is almost completely AU. Like I could put anyone's random names on these characters right now._

_DISCLAIMER: I don't own NCIS_

* * *

_"Director..."_

"Director..."

* * *

_"Yes?"_

"Yes?"

* * *

_"You have a conference call in MTAC."_

"You have a conference call in MTAC."

* * *

_"Who?"_

"Who?"

* * *

_"NCIS Director..."_

"FBI Director..."

* * *

_"...Shepard."_

* * *

"...Gibbs."

* * *

Jenny sighed, and rubbed away at her temples-trying to get rid of the impending headache. And...to put off the inevitable.

Dealing with the FBI.

Granted in her one year of being in the Director's office, dealing with the FBI had never been _as horrible _as it could've-should've been. It might've been because for the past twelve months or so, she'd only had to deal with FBI Assistant Director Vance. Now though, word on the 'Hill' was that the Big Boss was back in business over at the Bureau.

Yep, the infamous Director Gibbs was back in the Hoover building after a stint of sorting out affairs on the west coast.

Or, _again_, that's what she'd _heard_. In this business you quickly learned that word of mouth was never that reliable.

Still, now apparently, he was back in the big office and the recent case of the serial killer that had murdered a Petty Officer-had brought the FBI back in their territory again. Though to be fair it was more like NCIS had been brought into the FBI's territory, considering it was the MCRT led by Anthony DiNozzo that had gotten the case. Which she should've known was going to cause all sorts of trouble.

Their serial killer, who was in the wind, had ten confirmed victims to his name. Including their Petty Officer, _and _a FBI probationary agent. So it was safe to say that neither FBI Agent Tobias Fornell's team or Anthony DiNozzo's was going to give up the case that easily.

Which made it an issue for the adults to handle.

After another minute of procrastination, and another world weary sigh, she finally got up from her chair. Grabbing her briefcase, she exited her office and through Cynthia's area, out onto the catwalk.

A mask of professionalism washing over her.

In less time than she would've liked, she was standing in the dark room in front of the blank large screen. The computer technician to her left signaled, that the connection would go through in thirty seconds.

She tugged on her blouse, smoothed her skirt, and straightened her hair.

It was time to see what this amazing Gibbs was made of.

* * *

"C'mon on _Director_, you know you gotta go."

Gibbs glared across his desk at the scraggly man sitting on the other side.

Less than two hours ago he'd finally stepped foot back in D.C.. After a full year over in multiple office's on the west coast-and some short trips over to Europe, in order to sort out some major messes involving shady agents and arms deals. All he was ready to do was go to his _own _home, drink his _own _bourbon, and sand his boat.

Or maybe fire his Assistant Director and not have to worry if he was going to be shot in the back walking from the elevator to his office.

Still, during his last week of being in L.A. along with the knowledge that he would be going home soon, came a sudden burst of inspiration. That sudden burst of maybe not so sober inspiration had led to him calling up an old friend, and convincing him that it was _his _turn to come leave his country to visit _him_.

So, here he was glaring at retired FBI agent, along with his former mentor, Michael-Mike Franks.

But, instead of getting to go out to one of their favorite bars. And watch Mike utterly fail at picking up a woman half his age, now he was being called into a conference call with the new NCIS Director.

The new _female _NCIS Director.

This was something he'd been dreading. So far, he'd managed to put off all relations to NCIS on Leon. But now that word had gotten out that he was back in town. There was no way in hell he'd be able to get out of it.

Of course, the on the run serial killer wasn't helping anything.

To be fair, he could of still delayed any interactions with the new Director. But, that damned serial killer had taken down a probationary agent named Sacks, and he'd heard the new suit-scratch that-_skirt _on the Hill was a real hard ass. Trying to get over the preprogrammed sexist attitude most political figures came ingrained with now. So if the reputation she'd already started to build for herself was anything to go by, then she would have no problem making Leon rollover and give her anything she wanted.

Which would be to shove the FBI out of the case completely, all because one Petty Officer had been murdered. While eight civilians had been murdered, agent Sacks had lost his life, and the killer had crossed state lines at least twice.

There was no way hell the FBI was getting pushed out of this case.

So with a groan of acquiesce he threw his legs off his desk, and heaved his tired body out of his far too comfortable chair. Trudging out of his office like a child being told it was bedtime, he ignored that gloating chuckle from behind him as he made his way through the plexi-glass corridors of the Hoover building. On his way to the FBI equivalent of NCIS's MTAC.

Passing the retinal scan, he left the door ajar and entered the giant theater-esque room. He heard Mike make his way into the room and shut the heavy door behind him, and plop his scrawny butt into one of the seats in the back of the room.

A technician to his right signaled that the connection was about to go through.

* * *

Both screens filtered to life, the Director of NCIS on one side, and the Director of the FBI on the other.

"Director Gibbs, I presume." Jenny greeted the man on the other side formally, doing well to hide her shock. It was just that-_well_-looking at this man that greeted her, he wasn't what she had expected.

Director Gibbs had a reputation for avoiding the spotlight, and sending his subordinates to do the camera appearances. Instead she'd learned that he'd had a reputation for focusing on his operations, and not when the next budget meeting was going to be.

_'Must be refreshing,' _Jenny remembered thinking when she'd gleaned that tidbit of information, only six months into her directorship. So, with the lack in solid information about this mysterious director. It was only natural for her to be shocked at his appearance.

She'd expected something along the lines of; a short, pale, skinny man. With oily black hair, a mustache, wearing a tweed suit with leather elbow patches, and sitting behind a desk with a U.S.A flag on it.

Not a; six-foot something, tan, muscular man. With salt-n-pepper hair that was more salt than pepper, light stubble, wearing dark jeans with a black polo, and standing in a room that looked identical to the one she was currently standing in.

"Director Shepard," he greeted back politely in a deep, gravely, baritone.

For the first time, in a long time she felt something akin to tingles go through her. Tingles that she related to something forbidden, especially in the situation she was in now.

"Something wrong, Mrs. Shepard?" He questioned nicely, the woman on the screen looked lost in her own thoughts. Something which even he could tell was unusual for her.

She looked like the type to stay in control constantly.

"Um, nothing. My apologies, you just weren't what I was expecting. And it's _Ms. _Shepard, but you can call me Jennifer. Most everyone does." Stuttering the most that Jennifer Shepard could ever manage to stutter, she explained the name situation a little reluctantly. Surely he knew that she wasn't married. Was this some sort of mind game? Was he trying to taunt her with how young she was?

When did she start wondering if a simple slip-up was a move to undermine her authority?

"What..._were _you expecting, Jennifer?" Not being able to resist the opportunity arising before him. He cocked an eyebrow, and looked at her expectantly while he waited for her answer.

It wasn't like he couldn't understand where she was coming from.

Sure he'd seen tabloid photos of the new Director. He knew that she was short, had red hair, green eyes, and was pretty. But, what he couldn't tell from a photo; was that her hair was a blood shade of red, and her eyes were a bright shade of emerald.

From a photo he could tell that she was pretty, but in person (or as much as this could be counted in person) he could tell that she was beautiful.

Another thing he couldn't tell from a photograph, was that she wasn't like the other political women in this business. Sure the bun and the pencil skirt kind of belayed that fact, but the four inch strappy stilettoes adorning her feet and the one extra undone button on her oxford blouse. All proved that she wasn't afraid of showing a little skin.

And...it helped that she wasn't pushing sixty, or at least-she didn't _look _it.

"Damn, Probie you didn't tell me she was a _she_," he heard Mike's low comment followed by an extremely inappropriate wolf whistle from the back of the room, and clenched his eyes tight. Hoping and praying that the newest _female _Director hadn't heard, and wasn't already planning on sending a sexual harassment suit his way. But, of course, he was going to tell his chauvinistic boss that there was a woman Director over NCIS now.

Saved from answering at the moment by a comment from a shadowy figure in the back of the FBI's room. Jenny placed her hands on her hips and leaned forward a little. Her head cocked to the side _'Probie'_? As in probationary agent?

_"Dammit Mike. If you'd step out of that shack and think about life outside of Baja for a moment. Then you might know that we've progressed to the 21st century in your absence," _She heard Director Gibbs hiss, as he twisted so the other voice that she deemed to be a man's, may hear him.

She cleared her throat loftily, already planning on how she'd get NCIS custody on this case.

"Excuse me..._Probie_? Or is it Mr. Gibbs?" In a patronizing tone, she asked him. He turned back to the screen with a murderous look on his face, and she heard snickering from the other side. Snickering that wasn't coming from Gibbs.

"And...if there's a psychotic murderer stowing away in the back of the room, pressing a gun to your head. Then blink twice."

"First of all," he growled, taking a step forward, raising up a large hand he started ticking fingers off. "It's Gibbs. Don't call me Mr., or sir. I work for a living."

"And second, that joker back there," he said jerking a thumb over his shoulder, "just goes by Mike."

The shadow dubbed 'Mike' leaned forward a little until she could see an older looking man. Who frankly looked on his deathbed, give a friendly little wave to her and what was suppose to be a flirtatious wink.

"Okayyyy then, _Gibbs_. I guess we should get down to business," sighing she relaxed her stance only slightly, readying herself for a politically right fight. While he adapted what loosely resembled an 'at ease' pose.

It made her wonder if he'd ever been military.

"So the serial killer-_Abe Dunphr__ey_, has now murdered; eight civilians, a FBI probationary agent, and-" she watched as he began ticking off facts from a case file that has mysteriously appeared in his hands.

"_And _a naval Petty Officer." Jenny finished for him smoothly, making a quick trip to the first row of seats where her own briefcase sat. And retrieving her own case file.

"It's clear that FBI should take the case."

_"It's clear that NCIS should take the case."_

They each said at the same time; Gibbs in favor of the FBI, and Jenny for NCIS. After they both realized that they'd spoken over each other, two shocked faces took residence along with a cackling that Jenny assumed came from Mike.

"Excuse me?" Jenny asked him in a warning tone, and if it had been any other person. An agent, another director, senator, congressman, or even the President would've bowed to that tone.

But, not Leroy Jethro Gibbs. He _gave _the warnings, not received them.

"Well, I think it's clear _Jennifer _that the FBI should be handed over full jurisdiction of the case," Gibbs said making sure to stress her name slightly. Making her feel like a fourteen year old taking a reprimand from her father.

She _wasn't _fourteen, she was almost in her forties and was a Director.

"You know what, I think we can go back to Ms. Shepard now." She sneered. "And I believe that it's very obvious that this case belongs to NCIS. Considering there's a dead Petty Officer among the victims."

"Hmmmmm, okay then _Ms. Shepard_." He clenched a fist at his side, and narrowed his eyes even more at the woman on the screen. "But, what you have to remember is that there is a dead FBI agent among the bodies in _our _morgue."

"Now, don't you think that would make this case a little too personal for the agent's at the Bureau?" She drawled sarcastically, trying to bait him.

"So, you're saying that NCIS-a very dedicated agency-doesn't take the death of a Naval officer personally as well?" He fired back, and without giving her a chance to say the retort that he just knew was on the tip of her tongue.

He continued with a, "and adding that there are two counts of crossing the state border. Along with _eight _civilians which do land in FBI territory, and I don't see how one Petty Officer beats all of..._that_."

If the smirk on his face was anything to go by. Then he knew that he'd won.

Internally she groaned, going into this she knew it was going to be a long shot. That the FBI had more and heavier claims to this case then they did, but still she figured she might as well try it. Plus, it wouldn't hurt her new career and reputation to win against the famed FBI Director.

When she hesitated too long, and his lack of sleep started to catch up to him. He groaned _out loud_, and with a serious look started to _berate her! _

"Listen, _Jennifer _I realize that you're relatively new. But, this case doesn't belong to NCIS. It's not even about the civilians or the border's anymore. It's about the fact that we lost an agent over here, and I don't know how you run things over there but I sure as hell am not about to let some other agency take over. When it's one of my own people that are dead. So I don't care that you're trying to make a reputation for yourself, but you damned well aren't getting this case!"

When he stopped he was panting slightly, and was quietly stunned. Those were more words than he'd heard come out of his mouth in a long time.

But Jenny was not amused, considering she had her eyebrows raised, eyes narrowed, and with the case file scrunched in one hand both of her hands were balled at her hips. And from the looks of it her jaws were doing some serious grinding too.

_"Joint jurisdiction," _she grounded out between jaws that were clenched so tightly she thought her teeth were about to shatter. This was her final offer, otherwise she'd fight him tooth and nail all the way up to the Big Brass.

More to get back at him for what he just said than to take the case.

Gibbs was frozen in place, simply staring at her in disbelief. Most..._any _woman would've screamed and lost her cool at him for that rant. But the woman on the screen in front of him, just glared right back. And then responded like any true politician would, with a compromise.

So with only a moment of deliberation, he answered right back.

_"Fine."_

"Wow, so is this what happens every time you go off to your fancy shmancy meetings?" Both of them heard Mike's voice rasp from the shadows. And Jenny really hated herself when she couldn't help but realize Gibbs actually was cute when he relaxed his posture, rolled his eyes, and said to Mike.

"One more word from you, and no more hot tub," Gibbs warned without even turning around, and Jenny herself rolled her eyes.

Crossing her arms across her chest tightly, she huffed out a little annoyed puff of air that moved her bangs out of her eyes. And failed to notice that Gibbs had turned his attention back on her, hence missing the awestruck look on his face.

Because Director Gibbs was struck once more by just how beautiful Jennifer Shepard was.

Before he could put a lock on his mouth he was saying with a cocky smirk, "So would you like to go out for dinner with me sometime?"

When Jenny's brain registered those words, she turned her eyes back in disbelief to the screen in front of her. Distantly she heard the low _'Ohhhs' _coming from the technicians to her left, and that only enraged her more.

"You honestly think I'm going to go out with you?! When you just berated me as if I were one of your agent's?!" She screeched at him, and felt perverse pleasure in the look of shock on his face.

Clearly this was a man who wasn't used to be turned down. Well, she would show him.

"Well, _Gibbs_?" She hissed mockingly.

"Oh, c'mon," he huffed in exasperation. "Coffee then? If you have such a big problem with dinner!"

She couldn't help the undignified snort that escaped her, nor the torrent of words that were about to escape her.

"You pig! You think I'm going to go out on a date with you that I'm sure you'd expect me to end on my back and legs spread for you?! God," she spat in disgust.

"Well, bad news for you. It's a little harder to get me on my back, Gibbs. Goodbye you bastard," and with that dismissal she signaled for the technicians to cut the feed with a chopping motion.

The screen fizzled out and went black on the shocked face of the Director of the FBI, and the stranger named Mike's laughter cackling in the background.

Jenny sighed, and sat down in one of the seats in the front row. Her back was killing her from standing so stiffly. Reaching to rub the back of her neck, she couldn't help her pleased little grin.

She may not have made herself memorable by winning a case from the FBI, but she'd gotten joint jurisdiction. And it might've helped that she just told off their formable director.

Even if it were at the risk of cutting off all allied ties with the Bureau...

This time her sigh was a little more weary, and she moved from rubbing her neck to her forehead. From now on maybe she'd just let DiNozzo and agent Fornell duke it out.

* * *

"Mike, shut the hell up," he growled at his former mentor. While the pest continued to laugh like a hyena from behind him. Not that he could blame him though. When he had the strangest urge himself to laugh.

After all, a woman had just rejected _him_. Not just rejected, but she had violently rejected him. It had been awhile since a woman had rejected him, and he honestly didn't know how to take it.

Because why would a woman reject him? He wasn't very conceited, but he had seen the way enough women looked at him to know that he was handsome. And as a director, he was well off financially. So why would a civilian woman reject him? Not to mention the fact that he was a well respected, powerful, known political man. Which would be an attractive prospect to any woman wishing to get her name out there, or to advance her career.

Yet, Jennifer Shepard the brand new first female director of an armed federal agency. Had just shot him down without a second thought.

"Come on Probie, ya got your work done. Let's go get some bourbon, and get your ass in a decent bed. You look like you haven't slept in weeks," Mike said from his position suddenly right beside him. He felt a bony hand clap on his shoulder, and start to lead him towards the exit. For the first time in a while Leroy Jethro Gibbs, let himself be led.

Out the door, down the hallways they went. A few of the older agent's calling out greetings to Mike as they passed, and a few of the braver ones calling out hello's to Gibbs.

Just when they were about to make it to the elevator docks, Gibbs remembered something. Ducking Mike's hand he ignored the questioning glance, and turned back to the hallway that held the entrances to the team offices.

"Hey Fornell," he called out, and a familiar face popped out around a door frame on the right about three doors down.

"Yea?" Fornell asked, slightly hesitantly.

"The Dunphrey case is going to be joint with NCIS." Gibbs relayed back to his senior agent, and one of his best. He was just preparing his glare for the backlash he'd get for this, when the agent shocked the hell out of him.

"Alright," he accepted meekly, with just a roll of his eyes. Slightly suspicious of this different attitude, Gibbs turned back around with Mike in tow, and continued waiting for the elevator.

"Oh yea, Director," he heard Fornell call out again. As if he'd just remembered something.

"Hmmmmm," Gibbs signaled that he was listening without turning around.

"Who's got point?"

Gibbs thought for a moment, that wasn't something they'd decided on. Heck, just deciding that it was going to be a joint investigation had almost been too much for them.

"DiNozzzo's team is the one that's got it from their side, right?" He clarified.

"Yes," Fornell confirmed, wondering where is old friend was going with this.

Gibbs was busy thinking, or more like plotting. DiNozzo had worked with the FBI on multiple occasions, and so naturally Gibbs new a little bit about him. Gibbs knew that he was a passionate young man, and could easily be provoked.

And with that simultaneously he heard the ding of the elevator's arrival, while a wicked thought entered his mind. An evil idea that wormed it's way into his brain, it was something that he could use to aggravate the new woman director over there just a little bit more than he already had.

After all he had to keep the newbie's on their toes, right?

"Hell, Tobias," he drawled stepping into the elevator with Mike by his side. "You two duke it out, and whoever's the last standing..." he left the statement open ended, the smirk on his face saying everything he hadn't.

The metal doors were sliding shut to obscure Tobias's grinning retreating form. When Gibbs stuck his hand out, "And Tobias?" He called.

Fornell stuck his head back out, an inquiring look on his face.

"You make sure every damn news agency watches it too."

* * *

"Director Shepard," her well meaning assistant found her in MTAC a few minutes later.

"Yes, Cynthia?" She said, sipping her cup of coffee and concentrating on the case file in her lap. After the conference call with Gibbs, and her short relaxation session she simply hadn't felt like moving. So making herself at home she grabbed the Dunphrey file again (because she was determined not to be made a fool with how little she knew on the case), and started reading it more thoroughly for the fiftieth time.

"Agent DiNozzo needs to speak with you ma'am," Cynthia told her.

Glancing up over her red sparkly glasses, she eyed her secretary warily. She was exhausted from the overload of simple male testosterone that came from talking with Director Gibbs. She wasn't sure if she would be able to deal with anymore of it at the moment from agent DiNozzo when he learned that they had joint on the case.

But agent DiNozzo was just that, an _agent_. And to top it off he was _her _agent, and she was his boss. He wasn't the director of an agency that was technically higher up on the authority totem pole than NCIS.

She didn't have to take his crap.

"Send him in," she ordered and went back to reading her case file. Moments later she heard the thuds of the metallic door opening and shutting, and soft footsteps as Tony made his way to her.

"Agent DiNozzo," she greeted without looking up.

"Director," he replied, choosing to stand slightly to the side of her rather than take the seat next to her. As if she were an annoying parasite, rather than simply his boss.

No one had simply sat beside her in awhile.

"Did you talk to the FBI, ma'am?" He asked politely.

"Yes I did, and you will conduct a shared investigation with I assume agent Fornell." She said coolly, and silence soon followed. Curious to see how he would react she glanced up from her lap, and wanted to laugh at what she saw.

It looked like DiNozzo was doing everything in his power to keep from going off on her. With his jaw clenched tightly, eyes narrowed, and fist's balled he looked as if he were dying to yell at her that it was all her fault. That if he hadn't had a weak woman director as a boss, then they would've gotten the case.

"Going into it, we both knew that it was a long-shot for us to even get joint. So, I suggest you be happy with what we've got," she spoke with a clear warning that he better _not_ lose his cool with her.

"Besides," she added as an afterthought, "you shouldn't get so use to it. Because I highly doubt that in the future the FBI will be so willing to compromise." She said, thinking about the hotheaded words she'd spoken to Gibbs just moments ago.

Just thinking about it made her blood boil once more.

He still hadn't spoken, and it was beginning to annoy her. So, as a sign of clear dismissal she turned her attention back to her work. Only to be shocked when Tony spoke minutes later, "Who has point?" He interrogated.

_'Interesting,' _she thought. In all the berating and sarcasm, they'd forgotten to actually handle more details of the case. Making what should've been a half hour of intelligent first greetings and business, into fifteen minutes of..._nothing_.

Being diplomatic about it, she told him, "I'm sure yourself and agent Fornell ought to be able to work that out for yourselves."

Oh, if only she'd known then. That in less than a week her senior field agent would get into a fight with a senior field agent from the Bureau in front of multiple press agencies.

If only she knew that one simple fist fight would change her life forever.

* * *

_A/N: Should I continue this? I'm honestly torn about it. Though I'm pretty busy right now tweeking and making some decisions on Not Her. This is something I could update every few weeks or so. _

_If I continue this, it will turn to be rated M. Not right now of course, but in a few chapters. I'll change the rating for the story once and if it does._

_Not gonna say don't like don't review. Just gonna say don't be cruel._


	2. Tell the Public the Truth

_A/N: If the fifteen or so review I got from the last chapter are anything to go by. I take it you all are liking this so far? I can honestly say I'm pretty shocked about this, I never expected so many people to like it. Fair warning I kinda of placed Tony in a more "Gibbs(ish)" attitude in here._

_Okay, I'm wondering if I'm going to be able to do this story justice. If I don't think I can do it, or update on it anymore. I'm not going to take it down. I'll put it up for...adoption? Is that the right word for it? But that's if's and maybe's so..._

_Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS_

* * *

_"In unrelated news, yesterday in front of the Hoover building a fist fight broke out between NCIS agent Anthony DiNozzo and FBI agent Tobias Fornell. Sources tell me that it is rumored to be over the latest case of the serial killer that has been terrorizing us all, Abe Dunphrey. Considering this monster has added a Petty Officer, a FBI agent, and eight civilians among his victims. Shouldn't we be happy that we have not one, but two federal agencies on this task force?_

_If only that were the case. How are we suppose to feel safe when two agents can't even get along? Or is it the higher-ups that are throwing the temper tantrums? Is it FBI and NCIS both? Or is it simply NCIS?_

_Oh yes people, rumor has it, or at least...this video shot at the scene. Backups the rumor that it was the NCIS agent who threw the first punch. Is this a way for NCIS to try and exert authority over other agencies? To try and make a statement?_

_Has NCIS always been like this? Or is it only from the leadership of their new director? The first female director of an armed federal agency, Jennifer Shepard._

_This is Diane Sterling, signing out."_

* * *

Jenny glared at the TV screen. Every muscles in her body tense, and a vein in her forehead throbbing. All-in-all, she looked as if she were having a stroke. And, honestly, even to Jenny it felt as if she were on the verge of one.

As the smug redhead on the screen faded, and the regular news resumed. Jenny closed her eyes, taking slow deep breaths and trying to calm herself.

_'You are a director now. You cannot take your gun and shoot the b-, reporter. You are director. You are director. You are dire...,' _it was her own personal mantra repeating over and over in her head. Reminding her that she didn't have the leeway to react as she did when she was an agent. Though, to be fair, she never would've been put in this situation if she was still an agent.

It seemed to be working, that and a few counts of ten in; Hebrew, French, and English.

And it would've continued to keep working, if she didn't just hear her door open and close behind her. Still, would've worked too, if the agent she knew to be Anthony DiNozzo himself didn't immediately start with, "Director, that's utter bull-."

"Hush," she snapped, her eyes flying open and her fist balling at her sides, she spun around to face him.

"Sit." She commanded, pointing violently at one of the conference table chairs.

For the most likely first time in his life, Anthony DiNozzo shut his mouth and meekly complied. Sliding into one of the rolling chairs, he folded his arms on top of the table and slouched forward. Somehow managing to look meek and compliant, but defiant at the same time.

Jenny could tell he wasn't happy at being told to be quiet, but she didn't care.

"Explain," she growled, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at the TV where the tape of ZNN still played on mutely in the background. Grabbing the remote off the table in front of her, she paused and rewound the tape, to a still-shot of Diane Sterling.

DiNozzo glanced up at the screen, glowered, and looked back down moodily. Did it once more, and then finally looked to her.

"What do you want me to say? You won't believe me either way." He grumbled, with a snotty little shrug.

"Try me," she challenged, the death glare she had leveled on him intensified. While thoughts and visuals of keelhauling ran through her head.

He stood up quickly, the rolling chair flying backwards. Placing his palms flat on the table this time he leaned forward instead of slouching, and Jenny mentally rolled her eyes at the stupidity of the move. He was like the typical bully trying to establish dominance in front of the teacher.

"Sometime today, would be nice agent DiNozzo..."

He simply continued to stare at her, completely silent.

Jenny was losing what little patience she'd had to begin with.

"I told you to _work things out_ with agent Fornell, not _beat the crap out _of each other!" She exclaimed, and if she hadn't been so very pissed at his attitude and this whole _situation_. Then she would've laughed at hearing the word _crap _come out of her own mouth.

Turning on the delicate point of her heel, she jabbed the remote at the screen. Fast forwarding through Sterling's all too happy report, she stopped on the video of the fight that took place in the Hoover building's front parking lot. It looked like it had been taken by a bystander's cellphone if the grainy fighting figures of Tony and Tobias where anything to go by.

She freeze framed on an image of Tony throwing a right-hook, which just so happened to have been the first punch.

Facing DiNozzo again, her temper slightly cooled. She was able to ask more calmly this time, "How does a simple, civilized conversation over who has lead turn into a fist fight?! What did he do, insult your moth-"

But DiNozzo interrupted her.

Anthony DiNozzo had the nerve to interrupt her!

"Ma'am!" He basically yelled, somehow ignoring the promise of a painful castration she was sending his way. Instead his eyes were glued to the screen, a look of realization on his face, "Ma'am, I did _not _throw that first punch!"

"What?!" She spluttered out, of all the things she was expecting him to do; blame it all on her, stay silent as the grave, and taking perverse pride in it all being only some of it. This was not it.

His eyes locked with hers again, "Director, I. _Did. Not. Throw. That. First. Punch._" He reiterated, and his voice was just so full of conviction that she almost believed him.

Yet, she was a director, and she did not trust on convictions alone.

"What are you talking about agent DiNozzo?" She asked enunciating each word precisely, like she would if she were speaking to a toddler.

"Look!" He slammed his hands down on the table again, and she gave a low hiss. He backed off slightly and said a little more calmly yet still in a rush, "We met so we could discuss who was going to take lead. And one thing escalated onto another..."

"Either way," he shook his head, dismissing the rest of the story. "He threw the first punch, director. I promise!"

She hung her head in exasperation, a huff of air escaping her. Why couldn't they all see that she couldn't go on convictions and promises in her job?

"How am I suppose to believe you?"

He stared at her in shock, as if he didn't know why in the world she would think he would have a reason to lie about this. But, instead of going off into a anger fueled yelling match that would result in her taking his badge. He said, in the most serious tone she'd ever heard him speak in, "Director that video has been doctored. I swear! Give Abby thirty minutes with it and I'm sure she could prove it. And if she doesn't, I'll...you-...you can fire me or keelhaul me! Whatever you want!"

She hesitated, and apparently it was too long for Tony because he looked distinctively nervous when he started rambling.

"C'mon Director. Everybody knows Fornell was sleeping with Sterling! Hell, I even think they have a kid together! And the woman has always had a thing for Gibbs, you know the FBI director?" He asked it as if _she _the director of NCIS didn't know the director of the FBI. But, he didn't give her a chance to respond before he was off again, "and I mean I've made a move on her in the past and she kind of rebuffed me. But I'm sure I could get her to forget that, 'cuz no one can resist the DiNozzo charm. Either way the FBI's basically got her in the palm of their hand and-"

"DINOZZO," she screamed over his rapidly rising in pitch voice. Effectively stopping his rant.

He shut his mouth, with a sheepish look, slightly embarrassed at his Ms. Scuito-esque behavior.

She kept her voice controlled when she replied, "I will email the link to Ms. Scuito in five minutes...she has twenty minutes afterwards."

''...Thank you...director...you won't regret this." He said with a slow nod of his head, as if reaffirming it in his own mind. Then in a matter of seconds, her office door was slamming shut behind his rapidly retreating form.

In the sudden silence of her office, Jenny groaned.

Before her feet gave out on her, and she succumbed to the comfort of sitting. She trudged over to her desk, and succumbed to the comfort of her cool leather chair over a hard plastic one.

Tilting her chair back, she glared up at the image of Diane Sterling. So, she had a kid with Fornell, and a thing for Gibbs...A kid with Fornell? She had met agent Fornell, and frankly the thought of having a kid with him disgusted her slightly...But, a thing for Gibbs...Oh yea, she could see that even through grainy film.

Speaking of _Mr. _Gibbs, this whole situation reeked of him.

Grant it, she'd only talked to him once. But, a doctored video? A reporter that the FBI had in the palm of their hand? A bystander who just so happened to have conveniently caught a video, which only DiNozzo could really be identified in?

It practically _screamed_ something his reputation said he'd do.

But she didn't get on her phone. Didn't call up the FBI and demand a public retraction from _their _director. No, she wasn't going to do anything rash...She popped on her glasses, and turned on her computer.

She had an email to send.

* * *

On the other side of town while certain people in the NCIS building were most likely cursing his name, over at the Hoover building, Gibbs couldn't have been happier. Tilting back on the hind-legs of his creaky old chair, he propped his feet up on his desk with a satisfied smirk.

_Public fist fight._

Check.

_Flirt with Diane a little, and piss off Fornell some more._

Check.

_Get pissed drunk with Mike._

Check.

_Twice._

Check.

_Ruin the new director's day-._

Check.

Heck, who was he kidding? He'd officially ruined Jennifer Shepard's week.

"Gibbs, you are a bastard," Fornell almost sung as he burst through the office door. Gibbs could've chuckled at the irony at it all, instead he crossed his arms behind his head and glared laconically at the other man.

But Tobias wasn't deterred, after all a glare was this man's typical greeting.

"So where's Mike?" Fornell asked, plopping down uninvited into the chair in front of his desk. Reaching with greedy fingers to the tumbler of bourbon that sat on the corner, pouting only slightly when Gibbs' large hand swatted his away.

They both knew Gibbs could do worse damage than a red mark had he wanted to.

"Didn't think director's were suppose to drink on the job," he groused quietly.

"Yet agent's, the one's that _carry the guns_-need I remind you-are suppose to?" Gibbs drawled sarcastically, with an arch of his eyebrow.

"Point taken," the agent mumbled, then returned to their previous conversation, "Anyway where is Mike? I expected him to be in here laughing his ass off at your successful revenge." His eyes roamed the corner office, as if he expected a hung-over Mike to be snoring in the corner.

Gibbs shrugged, taking a sip of bourbon at the mention of his _'his success'_. "Mike's on his way back to Baja," he answered simply.

"I'm sorry Gibbs," he apologized. He knew that the other man would miss having the obnoxiously randy older man around, whether he admitted to it or not.

"Don't apologize-" Gibbs started.

"It's a sign of weakness," Fornell finished.

"Yea, yea, I know," Fornell said with a roll of his eyes. He knew the rules like the back of his hand, and he also knew the only reason he was getting away with the eye roll and smartass attitude. Was because of the glass of bourbon currently in Gibbs hand.

Pushing his luck that a bullet from his own SIG was soon going to end up in his brain, Fornell spun around to look at the flat screen that was mounted on the side wall. Where the footage of the 'fight' played silently on a loop.

"Diane did good, didn't she," he said, nodding to the redhead. "How did you convince her to do it?"

After a moment of no comments, Fornell turned to glance at him out of the corner of his eye. The only response was cool glare.

Which, he automatically, took the wrong way.

In a state of shock Tobias Fornell promptly fell out of his chair. Sending him, and the chair clattering to the ground. Quickly he was back up, popping back up in front of Gibbs desk, Gibbs remained calm as could be.

"You slept with her didn't you?!" He demanded, and whimpered out-as if Gibbs had personally offended him with the fact that he wasn't a virgin. "YOU-YOU-YOUR A-...a man whore." _The first bullet would land between his eyes. The second, his heart..._

"Why would it matter to you if I did?" Gibbs asked coolly.

"DAMMIT GIBBS, WE HAVE A KID TOGETHER!" Fornell blustered.

Gibbs couldn't help his chuckle, "Nooooooo, Tobias. I don't have a child with you, and Diane does. And it wasn't like Emily was there. Nor you!"

Fornell was just about to launch himself across the desk, and most likely get _his _ass kicked trying to kick _Gibbs _ass. When Gibbs-the _bastard_-_smiled_, "Wasn't like I was there either."

"WHAT THE HE-wait, what? What the hell?" Tobias blustered out, his head cocked to the side. And if Gibbs knew him at all-and he _did_- then he knew that Tobias was most likely wondering if sex had changed at all since the last time he'd gotten some.

Before he could-_god forbid_-ask, Gibbs threw his legs off his desk and leaned forward. Setting his glass of bourbon to the side, "I did not sleep with her."

Tobias deflated, and the red face disappeared before an angry glower took residence. Yet, Gibbs was the big boss, and Fornell would do well to remember that. So it was in a dangerous tone that Gibbs warned him, "and I suggest you get out of my office. Before you're out of a job."

Wisely, Fornell heeded his advice. Though, it was said that you weren't suppose to turn your back on a wild animal, Tobias turned around and risked death by walking to the door.

With one hand on the knob, and a foot on the door. Fornell glared at him over one shoulder, "Gibbs you _are _a bastard, and I'm sure _she _would agree with me." He hissed, and pointed over at the TV where a posed professional photo of _Ms. Shepard _was displayed.

He turned to leave, yet Gibbs voice stopped him as the wooden door was shutting. "Tobias," he called.

The door stopped an inch from being shut.

"I'm okay with being a bastard," he paused, "but if you ever call me a whore again..."

The threat was implied, and the door slammed shut all the way.

Gibbs turned, propping his feet backup on his desk, and turned to look back at the TV screen. Leaning forward slightly, he snagged the remote off his desk. He pressed paused.

The image of _Ms. Shepard _froze on the screen.

He was okay with being a bastard.

_Wasn't __he?_

* * *

Thirty minutes later-_ten minutes after her deadline_, Jenny finally gets the call she'd been waiting for.

Grant it, _Cynthia _gets the call, and _Cynthia _tells her about it.

"Director, Ms. Scuito says...she's _sorry it took so long_?" Cynthia's voice rose in pitch with the inherent question stated there. But before Jenny could respond she continued, "and that she found something. And you need to come to the lab. And that you would never believe it. And she's really, really, _really_, sorry it took so long. And for you to _please _not fire To-agent DiNozzo-" Cynthia hastily corrected herself, and in the brief lull Jenny cut her off.

"Um-yes, I get the picture Cynthia. Knowing Ms. Scuito this could go on for awhile." Jenny said with a wry smile that Cynthia couldn't see. She heard Cynthia's murmur of acknowledgment and the beep as the intercom line cutoff.

With a deep breath, Jenny stood up; straightened her skirt, and left her office. A rare tabloid shot of Director Leroy Jethro Gibbs, faded to black on her computer screen.

She walked past Cynthia, out onto to the catwalk, and into the elevator.

She pressed the button for the lab.

Two minutes, and a lonely elevator ride later, and she was there. Walking down the short hallway, she could already hear the crashing-_violent_-sounds of the music Ms. Scuito seemed to favor so much. Pausing in the entryway, she took a moment to process the scene in front of her.

Only Ms. Scuito was in the lab at the moment, and she was slightly shocked not to see agent DiNozzo in there as well. But, considering-everything, then it was most likely that he was hiding out in autopsy contemplating only the reasons he should get to say.

Because _surely _this video wasn't doctored.

"MS. SCUITO," she called out over the racket. Learning from personal experience that it was best not to sneak up on the bubbly scientist. At her call, the goth turned around to see her redheaded boss leaning against the doorway with a serious expression.

In leaps and bounds-the only way Abby _knew how _to move-she made her way to her backroom. Where her stereo was located.

Jenny's ears cried out in relief, when the racket was muted. While her ears were rendered temporarily deaf in the silence, her eyes worked just fine. And were able to make out a sheet of paper that was located on the lab table the scientist had been hunched over.

The heading on the paper read: _REASONS NOT TO FIRE TONY_.

"When are you ever going to call me Abby?" _Ms. Scuito _pouted from the doorway across from her. Jenny's eyes moved from the apparent _list _to lock with hers, and she watched as Abby's eyes widened when she saw where her attention had been.

Quickly-in _one big bound_-she was over at the table again, and sliding the sheet of paper under a bunch of other sheets of paper. She watched as Abby attempted nonchalance.

Abby didn't do nonchalance well, nor did she-_clearly_-know what subtle was.

Jenny simply arched an eyebrow, and said coolly eyeing her attire, "That would be unprofessional _Ms. Scuito_." And with just those six words Abigail Scuito was subdued.

"The clip...?" Jenny reminded her, this time in a little less of a bitchy tone. With slumped shoulders, and-though she might just be imagining it-_drooping pigtails_? Abby turned to her main computer, pulling up the clip on _her _flat screen.

The clicking of her heels echoed off the linoleum and stainless steel surfaces, as Jenny made her way across the lab. Stopping by the monitor Abby was standing at, she waited patiently...

"Okay, seeeee..." Abby narrated as she fast forwarded it slightly, to the point of the first punch, then paused it. "Here!" She exclaimed, coming to stand next to Jenny, and in typical Abby fashion forgetting that she was ever upset.

"Alright?" Jenny asked, considering all she saw was Tony throwing the first punch.

Which...they...all ready knew, and she didn't think Abby would be so _(excited?) _over something they already knew.

"It's not what you think, Director." She assured Jenny, her hands flying as she went into tech-no-babble speak.

Vaguely Jenny wondered, as she dodged a flying limb, if she was going to make it out of the lab without a concussion.

When another hand came her way from an oblivious Abby, Jenny finally spoke up, "the point...Ms. Scuito?"

Abby stilled, and Jenny breathed a sigh of impatience, when a look that spoke of _'well isn't it obvious?' _was directed her way. She shook her head, her mane of loose red hair flying round her face.

"Director! This. Video. Was. _Doctored_! Tony didn't throw the first punch! Someone set him up! There's a mastermind behind this! Some secret evil villain! Oh my god, I hope this isn't another Chip scenario! What if this is only a preclude to framing him for murder! What if-" Ms. Scuito rambled on, gaining steam in her worry.

"Ab-MS. SCUITO," she screamed for the second-no, _third _time today.

Damn, she really needed to reevaluate her staff.

Abby took a deep breath, and hung her head meekly. Glancing at the Director out of the corner of her eye, but her focus was still on the video.

"So, you're positive this video was doctored," Jenny clarified.

"Yes," Abby confirmed.

"Tony did not throw the first punch," continued Jenny.

"No," Abby played along, "he did not. Someone set him up...again."

"And...me," Jenny thought about what the snooty Diane had said this morning, and agreed with what she had just said all over again. "Only this time...not for murder. And I know who it is."

"You do?!" Abby sounded shocked.

"I do," Jenny growled.

Without another word, and doing as much as she could to control her anger. She strode towards the lab exit, ignoring Abby's protests of who in fact 'done it'. Cutting her off midsentence Jenny popped her head back in the lab, her feet already pointing towards the waiting elevator.

"Ms. Scuito," Abby quieted was more, and Jenny was glad because something didn't make sense. "If the video was in fact...faked. Then why were you making a list of reasons for me not to fire agent DiNozzo?"

Abby's cheered up at that, "Because I was late." She said simply, as if that couldn't be taken any _other _way.

Jenny only gave a short nod, and made her escape to the elevator. The metal doors slid close to the exclamations of Abby claiming that she wasn't pregnant with Tony's baby, but had just taken a little too long to get results.

Jenny rolled her eyes, and leant back against the cool metal wall.

_A reporter the FBI had in the palm of their hand._

_A set-up fist fight._

_A doctored video._

_A joint investigation._

_FBI._

_Leroy Jethro Gibbs._

That bastard.

* * *

Hours passed, and the sun set over the concrete jungle that was DC. Traffic got heavy in the evening rush as people made their way home in time for dinner.

A dinner they'd sit down to eat with a loved one, a family maybe.

Even NCIS was deserted-except for one Jennifer Shepard-who was doing what she'd been doing for hours now. Sitting at her desk, doing paperwork, walking in between MTAC and her desk, and well-_pretending_ she actually had her mind focused on it all.

When-in all actuality-she was inwardly fuming, and wondering what the hell she was going to do about it.

Now, originally she'd been okay. After her trip to Abby's lab, she'd came back up to her office, only to be called to MTAC for an unscheduled operation that suddenly _had _to be ran today.

The operation was taking place in California.

She had concentrated solely on California.

In the back of her mind, she _hadn't _been thinking about a man she'd only met once. And that _once _was over a screen. She _hadn't _been wondering why he would pull a stunt like this. When she'd only turned down a _(date?) _with the man. And _that _was during a verbal _(fight?)_. When they'd both said some harsh things.

After her op-when she _hadn't _been thinking those things-she'd gone back to her office. To do two things; one, try and figure out how the hell she was going to damage control to NCIS and her name after Steriling's little _report. _Two, well-_pretending _to do the paperwork, while actually still doing the first.

The sun hadn't set yet, but a blood red hue had started to spread across the sky when Ziva came in...

_"Tota, Jenny," Ziva greeted as she softly shut the office door behind her. _

_Jenny looked up from her 'paperwork', she took the entrance of Ziva as an excuse to give up on her façade. Resting her elbows on her desk, she slipped her reading glasses off, and massaged the bridge of her nose. _

_The headache that had blossomed about three hours ago, resurfaced with a vengeance._

_"Jenny?" Ziva moved towards one of the stuffy chairs in front of her desk. Tilting her head, and leaning to the side, trying to catch her eye. Jenny thought that Ziva was the only one who called her by her actual name anymore._

_She was kind of tired of hearing 'Director Shepard', and 'ma'am'._

_"Yea, I'm alright." Jenny answered the unanswered question, and plopped her head down in her hands. While Ziva relaxed into one of the seats._

_"Fine and randy, I'm sure." Ziva said sarcastically, and only someone with that blissful ignorance could make that sound...innocent._

_"It's dandy, Ziva. Fine and dandy." _

_"Why would someone want to be 'dandy'?" Ziva blew up, sounding suspiciously indignant at being-shockingly-wrong at an idiom._

_"Why would someone want to be 'randy'?" Jenny asked, taking her face out of her hands._

_Ziva gave her a knowing look._

_Jenny glared._

_Relenting to her obvious wishes-for now anyway- Ziva changed the subject, "soooo...what do you plan to do about Tony's little...fight? This Diane-woman, would you like her to...disappear?"_

_And just like that Ziva David to go from being 'fine and randy' to all business._

_Jenny didn't know wherever to laugh or scream._

_"No! No, I don't want her to...'disappear'. It's not that I actually care what happens to her-" She protested at ZIva's shocked expression. __"I just don't want you back in that...'business'." _

_"Oh, that is okay Jenny. I have got friends, contacts that owe me. I would not even have to lift a finger-" Ziva started to launch into an explanation on how easy it would actually be._

_"ZIVA," when Jenny had her attention, she had to squeeze her eyes shut for a moment. The brief yelling just exasperated her headache, "I need to have annual mandatory hearing tests for all of you." She groaned._

_She opened her eyes again, and when Ziva didn't ask for an explanation. She didn't bother providing one._

_"No," she stated, getting back on track, "I don't want her to 'disappear'. Besides-it wasn't even her-not really-, it was the FBI's director."_

_Before Ziva could interrupt her again, she raised a hand-silencing her, "and no, I guess I don't-maybe. You know, it would just-like be bad if he disappeared...I guess."_

_Ziva seemed absurdly disappointed, and nodded a bit sadly. As if not being able to torture someone would just ruin her whole day._

_Jenny leant back, her hand going to her top right drawer, and pulling out a pill bottle she reached for the bottle of water on the corner of the desk. Knocking back a few ibuprofen capsules, she mumbled-glancing warily at Ziva's sly smirk-around a mouth full of water, "remind me to tell agent DiNozzo to keep you away from the safety-pins." _

_When she swallowed them down, their eyes locked, and both snorted._

_As if Anthony DiNozzo could keep Ziva away from a safety-pin._

_"You guess," Ziva said, and leave it to her to focus on THAT portion of their conversation. "The Jenny I know, does not guess."_

_The redhead, snorted, "well, you never know-SecNav might not approve. Anyway, how did you know about...all of this?" _

_"Everyone knows," Ziva answered simply, and continued, "and you cannot just do nothing! Your name is being...(trashed?)!"_

_Leave it to Ziva, to get THAT one right. _

_"Did you, and their director talk before the fight? You seem to believe that he is behind this, did you do something...to...him?" Ziva trailed off at the ferocity of her glare._

_Jenny stood up, "NO! I DID NOT! I did not do a damn thing to him! Not when he berated me like I was a Probie agent! Just for doing my job! AND HE HAS THE NERVE to ask me on a DATE! A date that the bastard probably expected something along the lines of me just laying down and spreading my legs for him! BECAUSEEVERYBODYSEEMSTOTHINKISLEPTMYWAYTOTHETO-"_

_When she felt Ziva's hand clamp down on her mouth, she had the childish urge to lick it._

_"Calm, Jenny," Ziva-ZIVA, lectured her on staying calm. When the woman herself most likely couldn't go ten minutes without at least getting the urge to threaten someone._

_But, regardless, Jenny complied-only the director side of her remembering that there could still be other agent's in the building. Other agent's who would've just heard her screams basically declaring that she wasn't the whore every male on the 'Hill' seemed to think._

_If her cheeks flushed-Ziva didn't mention it, and Jenny was grateful._

_Once her former partner was apparently satisfied that she wasn't going to continue screaming. She slowly lowered her hand, both of them watching the other, to see what the next move was going to be._

_Jenny lowered herself back into her seat, while Ziva remained standing over her. When Ziva didn't move to sit back down, Jenny glanced back up at her to see Ziva watching her._

_After a moment of silent observation. Ziva opened her mouth and spoke in a tone of wisdom, "did he ever actually IMPLY that he wanted to have sex with you?"_

_Jenny's jaw dropped, and with a little smile on her face Ziva exited her office. Leaving a shell-shocked Jenny behind._

* * *

While Jenny was in her office, pondering a conversation from hours before. Across town, in an _almost _empty Hoover building, Gibbs was doing _almost _the same thing.

_If _wandering the hallways, and looking for coffee counted.

Now usually he would've just gone out for coffee. Snuck past his detail, and made his way to the twenty-four hour place a block away.

But after his little spat with Fornell, a few issues that he'd been dealing with the past year on the west coast had come up again. A few little problems, that went along the lines of; suspicious evidence gone missing, suspects getting tipped off, and money being mysteriously deposited in certain agent's offshore bank accounts.

Oh yea, the FBI had a leak. One, he thought he had dealt with during the past twelve months. Yet, the phone call he'd gotten only a few hours ago suggested that the 'dirty cop' hadn't only contaminated the one side of America. No, now it was looking as if this thing were a lot bigger than what he'd originally noticed.

_That _was the only-and he meant _only_-reason he wasn't currently out getting decent coffee. And instead he was in the break room, filling up on the disgusting sludge the accounting department had replaced the _real _coffee he _use _to have in here with.

As he spat the brown water down the drain, he could only thank god that Vance was out of DC. With him gone, and Gibbs himself being back, then he could start to undo the things that had been done in his absence.

_'To hell with it. I've still got that bourbon in the office,' _if he couldn't have coffee, he sure as hell was going to get something that would keep him from murdering the next person he had to speak with.

And besides, no one was here, it wasn't going to kill him to have another glass. He hadn't had one that big earlier today. With a new resolve, and in a slightly more pissed mood he stalked out of the room and back down the hallway that would lead to his office.

He'd just made it past the elevator himself and Mike had ridden in the other day. And was on his way past the large open bullpen when the sound of voices stopped him.

The hallway he was in led down to MTAC if he continued going straight. But, where he was stopped at was the doorway to the open squad room, where the _teams _resided. Teams that were made up of five or six, not two or three partners.

So rightly anyone could assume that the room-therefore the doorway-would be big. Hence, if someone was in the room, and he had to pass the doorway to turn down the small, secluded hallway that branched off by MTAC and led to his office. It would be a daunting task, if one wanted to do it unseen.

But he knew he could do it.

Heck he didn't even have to do it unseen if he didn't want to. It wasn't like anyone who wanted to hurt him could even get into the building, not when he knew for a fact that his security detail was positioned in at least ten different spots on this floor alone. And it wasn't like a normal agent-who worked here day after day, would actually _want _to try and engage the aloof, terrifying, director in conversation.

He was in the clear, but it wasn't the fact that there were voices, that made him stop. No, it was what the voices were saying that made, him stop and press his back up against the edge of the frame.

_"You think it was actually the NCIS agent?" _He heard one-distinctly nasal-voice speak.

_"Oh c'mon, I heard their director's new. You know, Jennifer Shepard? The hot redhead, channel twelve kept showing pictures of all year? Yea, apparently that's her!" _Gibbs rolled his eyes, as the new voice said in a high-pitched tone.

As if he, because the voice was male's-even if it _was _squeaky, had just failed to hit puberty yet.

_"You think she's gonna stir the pot with something so big, so soon?" _That second voice spoke again.

_"True," _nasal person conceded.

_"It was him, I tell ya. He did this." _'No puberty dude' accused.

_"Who? Director Gibbs?" _The nasal voice asked, and by the instant way his name was brought into the picture. He had a feeling that-_whoever_ these people were-they'd had this conversation-or one similar to it-before.

_"Yes him! I heard the day that he got back from wherever he was, and it was rumored it was California he escaped to. But the day he got back, he went into MTAC and had a conference call with her! The technicians said that they got into an argument right off the bat, and that he literally got onto her!" _Puberty man-no-_boy_, said it all gleefully as if it were just one giant tabloid article that he was reciting.

Gibbs made two mental notes; one, check and see if there were actual articles about it yet. And two, fire the MTAC technicians because he had a pretty good idea of where this conversation was going.

_"And THEN he asked her out! And she told him off! They said she screamed at him almost, called him a bastard and everything." _Gibbs heard puberty boy curse softly and then say, _"I wish I could do that!"_

What had he ever done to this person?

Gibbs racked his brains, trying to place if he knew the people behind the voices. They didn't ring a bell, nor send up any alerting red mental flags. But-though the person behind nasal voice didn't seem to have a problem with him-Puberty Boy, seemed to be prejudice against him.

_"You think he set the whole thing up. Just because she wouldn't go out with him?" _Nasal voice asked in amazement.

_"Definitely." _Puberty Boy confirmed.

Using the skills he'd utilized from his time in the Corps and in the unofficial 'spy game'. Like the shadow he use to get to be, he melted into the background and passed the doorway. From one frame edge to the other, he only managed to get a swift glance into the room.

From their positions, and the lighting he could only make out one face.

A kid named..._Gred Forge_? Or at least he thought, was the one he could identify to be the nasal voice.

But Puberty Boy was hidden in the shadows, and Gibbs couldn't take any longer or go any closer to see who he was. Not without, giving himself up, and well-two people _gossiping. _Wasn't all _that _important right now.

_'No,' _he thought later, when he was sitting at his desk again. Staring at his desk phone, _'it's about the fact that people seem to think I set all this up. Just because...she said...no.'_

It wasn't.

It _really _wasn't.

His hand drifted to the cradle, and picked up the extension. He should be calling his contacts and working on finding out what the hell was wrong with FBI agent's right now.

But..._instead_...his fingers were dialing a different number.

At midnight on a Wednesday, Director Leroy Jethro Gibbs picked up his phone and dialed the number to one Director Jennifer Shepard.

He waited with bated breath as the phone rang.

"Hello?"

* * *

She was sitting at her desk, just thinking over everything. The-_infuriating_-conversation she had had with Ziva, and how wrong her last words had been.

Not...that they _had _been wrong. They had been _right_. He _had _implied those..._connotations_.

He _had._

_Hadn't_ he?

The phone ringing brought her out of her reveries, and she didn't even have the presence of mind to wonder who could be calling her this late. At her _office_.

"Hello?" She answered, picking up the phone and bringing it to her ear.

She heard heavy breathing.

"Um...hello," a deep voice greeted her back. A deep, _deep _baritone that sent shivers down her spine, and anger to her heart all at the same time.

"Director Gibbs," she hissed.

"Jennifer." He fired back, and he didn't even take the time to wonder why she would be in her office this late. He hadn't before he'd called her, somehow he'd known. Known that she was the type to be in the office at midnight on a Wednesday.

"Thought we agreed it was _Ms. Shepard."_

"Thought we agreed it was Gibbs."

She glanced at the clock on her computer with a reluctant smirk. Oh god she should be screaming at him. Yelling curse words down the phone, and yet she was _this _close to smiling.

This banter they had going on...it was _invigorating_.

"Maybe this time we'll be able to beat our record, and have a twenty minute conversation," she said in sarcastic wonderment.

"And what was our last one?" Gibbs too was getting sucked into the conversation, he was well aware that they would be at each other's throats in minute. But for now, couldn't he enjoy a conversation with a woman that was intelligent. _Knew _she was intelligent, and wasn't afraid to _show _her intelligence.

"Fifteen minutes."

He chuckled slightly, and the line went silent. The time stolen, time they'd taken to actually enjoy a bit of today, was about to be given back in anger and-_hopefully_-explanations.

"Why did you call me, Gibbs?" She asked him, all playfulness gone. Serious infused every inch of her.

"I don't know." For the first time in forever, Gibbs admitted to someone that he _didn't _have all the answers.

It made a knot inside of him-_ease_.

"Didn't think I would be at home by now?" She questioned with an edge.

"Didn't really think about it at all."

The line went silent once more, and all Jenny could hear was his heavy breathing.

It was _oddly _comforting.

He might've been content to let the silence remain, but she wasn't. "So, did you see Mrs. Sterling's report today." Her voice tensely goaded him.

"_Ms. Shepard_, let's go get coffee..."

...

...

"You bastard," she whispered hoarsely. If he could see her now, he might've laughed. Her eyes were widened comically, and she looked furious and as if she'd just been slapped all at once. It was like deja vu.

"You don't get it do you?" Growled Jenny.

Gibbs stayed silent.

"You can do this. Set up agent's and _director's _to take the fall. You can do this _all _without facing the consequences! All because you have your assistant's-every subordinate you have, placed in the camera flashes. Hell, Gibbs! Half the people in the intelligence community think you've been dead for the past ten years!"

The _bastard _was still quiet.

"YOU can do that _all _and not worry that someone's going to claim you are unqualified! You can accept a freaking date, and not worry that the only reason they're asking you out is because they heard rumors that you slept your way to the top! You don't have to do everything, and anything to command respect all because you _sometimes _wear a skirt and not pants!"

"Senator Winters is a cross-dresser," Gibbs revealed...

"...Ha," she chuckled weakly. Her body going limp with shock once again, she wanted to stay angry at him. She still was, but he was making it pretty hard to continue this...until he...said...

"So you wanna get coffee or not?"

Her eyes slid shut, and she gave a muffled scream of frustration. Her feet stomped briefly against the carpet. She had the irrational urge to tell him that he was just being..._mean_, while unbidden tears pricked at her eyes.

"Gibbs-you, you- know what? You pulled this stunt. Doctored the video, got the reporter-who has a _kid _with agent Fornell-to release it to the press. You ruined my name in that one report. I'm still such a new figurehead that, that _one _bad press release can have me destroyed. And...you want me to go get coffee with you?! You know what? If you ever want a shot of me getting coffee with you, then you go out in front of everyone. Get back in the world Gibbs, and tell people the truth. Then-...then, you can call me to collect."

"Other than that, then I'll see you in hell Gibbs."

With that Jennifer Shepard hung up on Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

...

...

She looked back at her computer...they'd lasted five minutes.

A wry chuckle escaped her, and she shook her head in resignation. Her head swam with all the emotions that had swamped her in the last five minutes alone.

She was exhausted, and after her conversation with _him _there was a good chance she might actually sleep when she got home.

* * *

The next day, Jenny came in late.

Carrying a cup of steaming coffee in one hand, and her briefcase in the other. She stepped off the elevator and into the squad room. Only to be greeted by the sight of all of her teams, huddled around their individual TV's.

Trying to catch a glimpse at one screen, and wondering if the world was ending and she just hadn't been informed. She made her way over to the MCRT's section.

Tony, Ziva, and Tim were all gathered around their screen. Tim and DiNozzo with expressions of shock, while Ziva looked like she was wondering what was the big deal.

None of them noticed her approach, standing behind them she arched her neck and stood on her tiptoes.

She gasped.

On the screen was a press conference, a single podium set up with mics positioned all around it.

The FBI emblem was emblazoned on the front. Black suited men that were identical to the one's she had on her own security detail-only _ten times_-more of them, were also surrounding the edges of the podium.

The crowd in front of the stage-that held multiple press reporters-silenced at some unseen signal. And Jenny glanced around, everyone seemed to be holding their breath.

She was too, but she knew what was about to happen.

It was the shock of it all.

Walking across the stage right now; dressed in a black suit and tie that matched his detail's, was one Leroy Jethro Gibbs. The elusive FBI director had resurfaced.

He was getting back out in the world.

He was going to tell the public the truth.

She didn't need to stay in the bullpen any longer, didn't need to watch the release. Didn't need to later hear, that the FBI director no one was really sure existed anymore, had issued a public retraction.

Stating that it had been no one's fault.

'Unreliable sources,' he'd said.

'Director Shepard remained polite and diplomatic,' he had challenged a reporter.

She hadn't had to hear any of that, so she'd made her way up the stairs and over the catwalk. That day Jenny hadn't waited with everyone else to hear the words of that man, but had retreated into her office.

After all, she was expecting a call from a man about collecting on a coffee date.

* * *

_A/N: GONNA BE A LONG A/N. Think this is the longest chapter I've ever wrote. Don't expect one this long every time. Lol. Okay so first, sorry about the whole Tobias 'Man Whore' thing yea...that was pretty stupid... (: actually my humor is pretty stupid. So dang I felt like I had expectations to live up to! It was a weird feeling! Sorry, if this let any of you down. I'm trying on this but this is the first type of story like this that I've wrote. And it's a hard thing to break into. And where I live it's 3 a.m. So I'm going to bed THIS CHAPTER NEEDS TO BE READ OVER FOR MISTAKES. But y'all seemed pretty excited for an update, so I'm just going to update it now. Then in five hours when I wake up I'll check over it. AND THE CURSING. I DIDN'T LIKE THE AMOUNT I PUT IN IT SO I'LL CHANGE THAT TOO_

_And rated M...I plan to turn this into an M rated fic, like in the next chapter type of soon. But if too many of you are against it, then I may not do it. So let me know..._

_"But we're not stupid-we know we're called Gred and Forge." ~Harry Potter, the Twins._


	3. He Never Called

_A/N: WOW! It amazes me, the response to this story. On one hand it's like 'oh thirty people have reviewed...', but to me *acting like a major fangirl* 'oh only two chapters and yet thirty or so people have reviewed'! Geez. How the heck am I suppose to live up these expectations?! Not so much yall's, but mine:/. Sorry it's been so long but my health has been getting in the way._

_DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN NCIS_

* * *

A month passed, and October faded into November.

And Gibbs didn't call.

Halloween passed by in a blur of freaky cases, and the crisp cool winds surrounding D.C turned into downright _cold_.

Still, Gibbs didn't call.

Now it was November ninth, and she was standing in her en-suite office bathroom. Debating her life problems when she was suppose to be getting ready. This year, whatever suit (though she wondered if she was a bit of a hypocrite for thinking of anyone like _that_) made these types of decisions, had told the SecNav that she wasn't going to the Marine Corps Ball this year.

Instead some senator (or maybe the President-her head hadn't really been there the last month), had organized this great big ball. An _actual _ball, with ball gowns and tuxedos, the whole extravaganza. And had given out "invitations" to; each and every senator, Director heads, SecNav, SecDef, etc.. Basically, if you had a prominent name in the District of Columbia-then you were going to be there.

She was going in order to schmooze money out of men that only stared at her breasts the whole time-per her boss's orders. Otherwise, she wouldn't have been going at all.

No, instead she'd be sitting in MTAC in the dark...because..._he _was back.

Technically he wasn't _back_, she'd only heard the whispers. Whispers that had reached her exactly three weeks ago...

She gave a world weary sigh and her eyes slid shut. Bowing her head, she rubbed gently at the bridge of her nose, where a headache had been forming from her glasses.

Two hours until she had to be there? And she was already running late.

_'Ugh,' _she straightened her shoulders back and opened her eyes again.

She stared at the hanger on the back of her bathroom door. The room was steamy from the primitive shower she'd just gotten out of, and she was standing by the fogged up mirror. One towel wrapped around her damp hair, and another around her naked body.

Still staring-more like _glaring_-at the dress hanging on the back of her door. She turned back to the counter, where she had a blower dryer, and a curling wand plugged in, with a big bag of makeup sitting beside them. Unwrapping the turban on her head, she used a corner of it to clear the mirror, and watched the wet wine-red curls fall around her shoulders.

There was a _lot _of work to be done.

..._Surprisingly_, she managed to make loose ringlets, the smoky eye look, _and _a good more five minutes of glaring in at her dress. All in thirty minutes...

So...the only thing left to do now, was actually get dressed.

It wasn't like she minded the dress, it wasn't indecently inappropriate. She'd had to wear _way _worse a few times during her stint as an agent. It was just that...she wasn't in the mood to wear a dress like this.

Heck she wasn't in the mood to get dressed up, and see people. Not when all she wanted to do was get on the phone with her contacts, and hunt the..._Frog _down.

That's right, for the first time in close to five years, whispers were going up concerning La Grenouille.

Grant it, it was only whispers, but after going so long without a hint of information. She was desperate to get back on the trail, something she'd been busy with the past three weeks.

Gibbs never did call to collect on that coffee date.

She'd worried about it, for the first week. Had even contemplated calling him herself, but something had stopped her. If he had wanted to call and collect, he would've.

He hadn't, and she hadn't called. Instead she had fretted for seven complete days, then Ziva had come to visit her. Their conversation had wiped her mind completely of those worries, and instead had engrossed her in the hunt she'd been embroiled in for years.

She had become-_concentrated_-in her efforts, and she remembered wondering at some point if the same thing had happened to Jethro. Because for the FBI Director who was suppose to be letting the world know he wasn't dead, he sure as hell hadn't been seen in public lately.

Besides his press conference public retraction, words like _'disappeared'_, _'mission'_, and _'hoax'_. Had penetrated the fog of her brain, because the elusive man hadn't been publically seen again.

He'd vanished once more.

And _damn _if she didn't wish she could do the same.

She wanted to disappear, to not have to go to some ball just to use her looks, and definitely not to have her boss assign her a _personal stylist _for when she had to go out officially in public. A personal stylist that wanted to take advantage of her ability to get name brand designers, and make her wear dresses with names she couldn't even pronounce.

The little number she was staring at was made by some Italian guy. It was semi sheer, had long sleeves, a flowing train, was embellished all down the front, and completely black.

She felt in a black mood.

Believe it or not, she'd tried to get a simple dress from Dillard's. Telling _that _to her personal stylist had almost given the man (yes a _man_) a heart attack. Instead of her plain outfit, her 'stylist' had been bound and determined that if she was going to wear black. Then she wasn't going to wear _all _black.

The complete outfit, ended with the dress, silver strappy decent-sized heels, and sterling silver cubic zirconium hoop earrings. She'd only gotten away with the earrings by the skin of her teeth, and by the fact that her 'stylist' wasn't that good when it came to jewelry.

Her 'stylist' had wanted to come and help her get dressed.

Fredrico was now on his way to an empty and locked Georgetown townhouse, for multiple reasons. Least of all, because she wasn't entirely convinced the man was as 'gay' as he claimed he was.

No stylist around, and yet she still couldn't wear what she wanted too. The only thing she had control over was...she turned to the counter and looked at what _else _was lying on the surface.

There sat a set of La Perla's finest, even if it was her choice to wear black. With the red scraps of lace on, maybe she'd feel a little more confident in herself tonight.

_'Grrrrrr,' _she wasn't going to be feeling confident in herself at all tonight. If she got griped at by her boss for being late, so with a muttered curse. She started the arduous process of making herself looking presentable.

After all, she couldn't keep her date waiting downstairs forever. Now could she?

* * *

Two hours later and she was finally..._there_. There being a ballroom in a mansion she didn't bother getting the name of, she had let her driver handle those little details.

And now, after walking down the steps to the bullpen, and having DiNozzo and McGee gawk at her. She'd-_sadly_-arrived at the right address, and now had to endure this..._hell_ for at least five more hours.

"My dear, I am going to get some refreshments. Would you like something."

"Um, no thank you," she said distractedly. When the man beside her still didn't move she turned her attention to him and laid a light hand on his arm.

"Really, Ducky. I'm okay," she reassured the elderly M.E. for what seemed like the millionth time that night, In what seemed like a patronizing gesture, he nodded his head and took off to the side of the room. Where large buffet tables, decorated in white linens, and laden with large trays of whatever food you could possible think of-was located.

For what she _knew _to be the ninth time in the past hour, she sighed. Her headache was coming back, and the over packed room was hot and stuffy. She watched as Ducky-her date-made his way through the pressed together bodies.

_'He'll be lucky if there is anything left by the time he get's there.' _She thought wryly, and she was right in some aspects. It wasn't the anorexic, too young, trophy wives on the arms of all the men in the room, that they would have to worry about eating everything. Or-eating _period_.

No, it was the handsy, stinky, potbellied men, that would be the most threat to her and Ducky's starvation tonight. More like Ducky's-actually. If she had to actually interact with people at this thing, then she sure as hell wasn't going to torture herself even more with a rubber chicken dinner.

She lost Ducky in the crowd, and eventually turned back around-surveying the scene. Unconsciously, she felt herself eyeing the perimeters, the borders of the room where the light didn't filter so well to. She didn't know why she was doing it, or what she was looking for (or maybe she did). She hadn't had that necessity to be so aware of her surroundings in years.

"Hello, Ms. Shepard," a voice greeted from behind her. She spun, and with an irrational surge of disappointment she realized the man behind her was Leon Vance.

It was then, that she _knew _what (more like _who_) she had been unconsciously looking for.

"Hello, Mr. Vance." She said politely. She had no problems being polite to him,...it was his boss she had problems with.

It was his boss that had never called.

It was his boss she had been looking for.

She hadn't meant to look for him, it was just that-with his newfound 'resolution'-she kind of expected him to be here. But, she guessed she shouldn't be surprised, apparently the words she had gained through the 'fog' had been correct.

Gibbs had become part of the 'dead' once more.

He wasn't here, that-her gut was telling her-was _almost _certain. It didn't make sense for him...to be here...when his assistant director...was standing right in front of her. Her assistant director, Caitlin Todd, didn't come to the same functions she did. Unless ordered so by the SecNav.

She shouldn't be this disappointed.

But she was.

Shaking her head slightly, she realized Vance was jabbering away. With her heels on, she was eye level with the man, and able to see the sweat beading on his brow. Inwardly she rolled her eyes, she didn't know why everyone became so nervous around her these days.

Her thoughts wandered off, there was politicians she needed to be getting more money out of. Feathers she'd ruffled over the past three weeks that needed to be smoothed. And most definitely, alcohol that needed to be consumed.

Contacts that needed to be made, though she didn't think the types of contacts she needed. Could be found here among these stuffy _suits_, the types she needed was more of the..._'shadows and guns' _type.

"Excuse me," she said, cutting the man off, "but I have business to attend to that's quite pressing."

"Of course," he looked down, slightly abashed.

She didn't stay to give pleasantries, instead she made her escape. In a flash of black, she was gone in the crowd.

* * *

A hour (or was it two?) crawled by, and the sun was starting to set when she found him.

Earlier her and Ducky had met up briefly, but the older man was enjoying himself far more than she was. So instead of bringing him down with her, she used the 'business' excuse again. Giving him an out to go and woo an elderly senator's mother.

Now, thoroughly put out that she'd been delayed in getting her scotch, she was standing in the middle of the room. Staring, point blank _staring_, at a figure in the shadows on the opposite wall.

He, she could tell from his height and broad shoulder (it was either that or she was a very butch woman), was dressed to look like a security detail. Normally security details would just wear suits, but this was a slightly more upscale event so they were dressed like penguins today.

Instead of like monkeys.

Despite the dark tux, she doubted she was mistaken in his identity. Though she was a tad inexperienced on what agents could and couldn't afford nowadays, she didn't think they would be wearing Wingtips.

Unless they were Anthony DiNozzo, and the man she was glaring at _definitely _wasn't.

He was here, and yet the bastard was hiding at the same time.

To add insult to injury he was hiding in plain sight.

Fury, and a bit of annoyance, although not entirely aimed at him, coursed through her. Frustration, annoyance, and fury at the situation and the man that she hadn't even met in person before.

But...he was right there...she could change that.

Twisting, dipping, and twirling she felt more like she was dancing and not walking as she made her way around multiple bodies. One over pointy heel stepped on her toes, and she clenched her teeth. Trying hard not to throttle the botoxed woman who didn't bother apologizing, only tried to smile at her.

Jenny grimaced back, and continued-limping-forward. When she got out of the majority of people and now had a clear path to the man she was making her way towards, she glanced up.

Grant it, he was wearing sunglasses (indoors might she add), but she could tell he saw her coming. Saw her limping the best she could in her own pair of heels. She was positive about that, considering she could make out the small little smirk on his lips.

She tried not to focus on how utterly sexy that smirk was. Along with the hair that was more silver than she remembered, and his relaxed posture that oozed confidence...

And here she was with messy hair and a limp.

Tamping down on the slight urge she had to run and hide from him, she continued. Coming to a stop by his side-back against the wall, he stayed staring forward (at least she thought-with those sunglasses she couldn't tell).

Neither of them spoke.

"You never collected." Yea, she should've known she wouldn't have lasted long. Not when being so close to him and in personal she could smell the Old Spice on him, what smelled like coffee, maybe an alcoholic beverage, and...something else. Not when she could see him so much better than she could on a grainy old screen, the way his jacket was bulging with sinewy muscles, silver hair, strong jawline, and his trim waist.

This La Grenouille chaos really had her messed up, because it was all she could do not to think on what might be below that trim waist.

And it might have something to do with the fact...he never called.

"Didn't figure you wanted me to," he answered simply.

Had she wanted him to?

* * *

He had noticed her the moment she entered the room. Hours earlier she had come in, in a black little number.

Looking so very different than the women around them. They all had taken this excuse for a ball as an invitation to become Cinderella, wearing the big poofy dresses. Huge skirts, but the tops were quite revealing. Bare cleavage was spilling out everywhere, and bare backs were assaulting his eyes.

Some of these trophy wives (the ones that were more silicone than flesh) could pull off dresses like that. Others...well...they needed to get a big dose of reality.

Then she had come in, on the arm of an older man he knew quite well, dressed in a form fitting black gown. Though she could've passed for going to a funeral, the silver accents, and her curly red hair offset that image wonderfully.

Of course it had nothing to do with her flowing curves, and...accentuated chest.

She hadn't seen him originally, he knew that. He saw her leave 'Duck', and talk briefly to Vance who was taking over his position for tonight. Then he saw her try to make her way over to the small alcoholic selection in the corner, but get stopped by even more senators.

All of whom, had wondering hands that she quickly put an end to.

He'd watched, vaguely amused-sometimes experiencing irrational urges of jealousy, as she ambled around for a little bit. Anyone-who looked closely-could tell that she didn't want to be there, and if she had to be there then she didn't want people approaching her during it.

So he'd kept to his side of the room, and waited to see if she would see him. When she did eventually turn to face him, he completely missed her eyes roaming over his body, because he was busy with his mouth most likely gaping like an idiot.

For the first time (let's face it, you can't actually see that well over fuzzy screens), he got a look at Ms. Shepard's eyes.

She; was petite (the heels made up for her height), curvy, had surprisingly long legs for someone so small (though it may have been the heels), had beautiful deep red hair that brushed against the top of her ribcage, and emerald green eyes that he could make out all the way from here.

Emerald green eyes, that he was sure would sparkle and twinkle. Only today...there was a...shadow blocking that twinkle.

He didn't realize she'd been making her way over to him, until he saw her falter. When that plastic surgery made woman, stepped on her foot, he briefly pondered if he would have to arrest the Director of NCIS for murder tonight.

_That _might make tonight interesting.

Though he only had to endure this, until he was ready to go outside. And he wasn't ready for that until the sun went down.

"You never collected." Her tone wasn't accusing-simply curious, but he still bridled. Probably at the fact that someone had managed to surprise him. That someone being a beautiful redhead wearing at least six (maybe seven if he guessed correctly) inch heels.

"Didn't figure you wanted me to."

True he'd issued the public retraction that had the presses buzzing, and she had said he had a shot with her if he did that. He'd done that, and then he'd done some thinking.

He didn't know what it was about Jennifer Shepard. Of course he was attracted to her, but to be fair he was attracted to a different woman on a daily basis. Maybe it was because she was the first one to turn him down in so long?

Either way, he hadn't called. He wasn't going to subject her to him, if she didn't want him. And for the first seven days he'd tried to tell himself that he wasn't being tempted. Wasn't being tempted to pick up the phone and call her, and actually see if she wanted to go out to dinner. Without his asinine stunt hanging over them.

That second week, his contacts had, well-contacted him.

He couldn't really tell her that most of his month had been spent working non-stop on the leak. And that, the reason he'd disappeared again was because that it was just plain easier to work on that type of situation out of the public eye.

Leon Vance had taken over most of his duties again, including shaking hands at this event. While he came also, only he was the one standing in the shadows. Waiting until he saw vivid colors of sunset out of the wide bay windows, and he could finally-get on with the business that had led him here in the first place.

"I wouldn't have told you to do so. If I didn't mean it," she stated simply. Still not turning to look at him. He didn't turn to look at her either, instead both of them kept scanning the crowd.

Automated responses when you were an important figure in the business they were in.

"I'll remember that for next time." He said in wry satisifaction. His mind wasn't really all there tonight (it was still back in his office trying to figure out who was a dirty agent), otherwise he was sure he already would've been in the process of convincing Ms. Shepard to leave with him. In light of the somewhat subtle admittance, that she wouldn't have minded going to dinner with him.

Yeah, maybe he was slight pig...

After a while of compliant silence, she glanced up at him out of the corner of her eye. "You do realize, that as Director's we are technically allowed to be here."

At his befuddled look, she elaborated in a sarcastic whisper. "A.K.A. That was my polite way of asking you if you're trying to impersonate James Bond."

Despite the very many responses he could've given to that. Some of which included say nothing, like she half expected him to, because frankly she didn't expect him to even know who James Bond was.

Instead he scoffed and said, "martini-my ass. Bourbon."

With wide eyes she turned slightly to the side, facing him. Drawn to her eyes, he asked in a good-natured tone.

"Which one would I be?"

"Considering I'm doubting that your hair was always that color...I'd have to say Sean Connery or Pierce Brosnan."

Tilting his head down at her, even with her heels there was a height difference, she saw an eyebrow arch up over one of the tinted lenses. "I don't know whether to take that as a compliment, or offense that you just called me old."

A light flush spread across her cheeks, and the bridge of her nose. He wondered what she would think if she found out he wasn't even fifty.

"Take it as a compliment," she said frankly, just slightly embarrassed, turning back to the crowd.

"Anyway you never answered my question?"

"You never asked a question," he retorted.

"Why did you disappear?" She asked bluntly.

_'Wow, she sure didn't hold back.'_ He was amazed that a woman who worked in politics even knew how to speak without someone else dictating her words.

When he didn't answer she said, "was it some kind of _Give a Mouse a Cookie _situation?"

She expected to throw him for a loop, but she was quickly realizing that she couldn't expect anything when it came to him.

"Personally, I prefer the _Give a Pig a Pancake _scenario more."

_'Of course you do.'_

"You would think, that I would be able to give one simple public statement. Without them trying to capture my every move afterwards," he groused, referring to the press.

"To be fair, most people thought you were-"

"Dead. Yeah, I caught onto that." He finished for her.

"So I'm just going to assume that's the reason for your whole getup." She gestured to his outfit, with a airy wave of her delicate hand.

"Yep, trying to blend in with the protection detail and all."

"Well, your doing a horrible job of it." At his inquiring grunt, she turned and in a matter-of-fact manner grabbed a lapel of his jacket.

"First of all, I don't think they wear two thousand dollar jackets. Nor do they wear Wingtips." She said eyeing him critically.

"How would you know what protection detail wears?" He challenged her.

"Clearly you don't," she fired back.

"Let's just agree to disagree," he said wearily. A quick glance to the far wall where the windows and balcony were located. Showed that he had maybe forty-five minutes at most until it was time for him to make his escape.

He didn't want to be embroiled in a fight with Ms. Shepard when that time came.

Without releasing her hold on him, though he really wanted her too considering he was starting to react to the feel of her small hand on him, she followed his gaze to the windows.

"Why are you here?" She questioned him suspiciously, tilting her head daintily to the side.

"When a man and a woman really love each othe-" he began.

"No, you idiot." She snapped, slapping her hand against his shoulder. "Why are you _here_. At the _ball_. If you aren't here to slap the money makers hands, and smile handsomely at the cameras. Then why are you here?"

"You think I'm handsome?" He focused on that fact, smiling cheekily.

She really tried not to focus on the fact his smile was kind of-sort of-maybe just a little bit, cute.

"Focus," she hissed. Not at all threateningly, he just didn't have the heart to tell her that she wasn't the least bit scary to him in that moment.

He rolled his eyes, and sighed heavily. "I am here, Ms. Shepard, to make contacts." He answered simply.

"Why are you here?" He returned the question.

"Well, Mr. Gibbs, I am a simpering woman pathetic woman. Who lives to get dressed up, and be showed off as if she were the trophy wife of the American government."

In her rueful ire, she unconsciously took a step closer to him, her warm hand still resting on his broad chest. Though he was trying to ignore it, and she was unaware of it, she was moving closer and closer until they were toe-to-toe.

Leaning down, he got in her face, so closer their noses almost touched. As he came closer, he could finally see awareness of their physical situation become apparent to her.

"BS," he growled, and _he _was menacing.

"Don't you believe me?" She asked, her voice rising in pitch.

"No." And he could've gone on and on about her apparent strength of character. But he didn't, he felt like he was meeting a blind date for the first time (even though he'd never been on one). He didn't know Jennifer Shepard's strength (or lack of) in character, he barely knew anything about her. All he knew was that she was soft, warm, and when pressed against him was evoking responses he really didn't want her to become aware of.

He knew that right now, she looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here.

So he told her that.

She laughed, breathlessly, a full deep-bellied laugh, infectious, melodious laugh. _It felt good too laugh again..._

And answered when he asked once more, "contacts. I'm here to make contacts."

"Then you're in the wrong place," he retorted an air of mystery surrounding him.

I am," he jerked his chin over her shoulder, at the overweight, balding politicians behind them, "but I don't think they are the type of connections you want."

"What?!" She exclaimed in surprise. "You just said you were here to make contacts!"

"Yeah, but not _here_." He risked another glance at the windows. The sun was about to touch the horizon as they spoke...

He looked back at the demanding woman who was (somewhat) in his arms. Her emerald orbs telling him that she wasn't going to give up until he answered, and she was satisfied with the answer.

Hoisting himself up off the wall, his large palm wrapped around her delicate wrist. Dragging her behind him he took off towards the liquor table.

"Where are we going?"

"To make contacts," he threw back over his shoulder.

* * *

She was really trying to ignore the way his large fingers wrapped around her delicate wrist. His calloused fingertips pressing at just the right spot, she hoped he couldn't feel the way her heart was racing.

So what? She was physically attracted to the man. She could admit that much.

He snagged a bottle of..._(bourbon?) _off the alcohol table as they passed, and he kept going to the open balcony.

"I don't particularly liked being dragged forcefully," she complained loudly. Maybe he would have to stick around, if the press thought the Director of the FBI was kidnapping the Director of NCIS.

Speaking of kidnapping, where exactly was her security detail? Or his? Technically they shouldn't have even been allowed to move five feet without those men following them.

Then she remembered that he didn't look like the Director of the FBI. That it had taken her almost two hours too spot him herself. No one was going to see Director Gibbs dragging away Director Shepard.

They were just going to see Ms. Shepard following one of her security detail personnel.

She really hoped he didn't plan on killing her.

"Hush," he silenced her over his shoulder, "before I leave you at the mercy of these...pigs."

Against her better judgment, she silenced.

Looking briefly over her shoulder, just to make sure no one saw them, she took in the scene one last time. Now that she thought about it, if these slimy politicians had curly little pink tails...then they could figuratively and literally be pigs.

She snorted to derisively.

Stumbling slightly, she decided it might be a better idea to watch where she was being dragged too. Turning her eyes back around, she saw that the bottle of amber liquid was still clutched in Gibbs' hand, and that she was being towed to the large windows that opened out onto a balcony.

With one last furtitive glance around, she allowed him to pull her out of the crowded ballroom and out into the chilly autumn evening.

Jethro closed shut the glass doors behind them, and her heels clicked against the floor as he pulled her to the railing. Other than those sounds the silence of the darkening skies surrounded them.

Her head tilted back and she felt like she could finally breath.

Jethro's hand moved to hold hers.

Crickets chirped somewhere in the distance.

His large palm slid up her wrist engulfed her smaller one.

The red ball of fire that was the sun, sunk under the horizon.

Jethro's thumb rubbed small unconscious circles of the back of her hand.

Her pulse stuttered.

"Are you ready?"

* * *

Under the balcony, you could see the twinkling lights decorating the patio below them. The party was on both floors of the hotel, but the large glass doors on the first floor were shut. Leaving the small concrete patio empty except for a few drunken soles, doing deeds that Jenny preferred not to think about.

Beyond the square of concrete, was a dark expanse that-when the sun was up-would be a vibrant green of a grassy slope. But in the steadily darkening skies only made it look like a sea of black. A sea of black that tapered off into a sparse cope of trees that were at the bottom of the grassy knoll.

In between those hulking, looming columns that were the large oaks Jenny could see flashes of light. Movements interspersed with murmurs of sound that didn't come from the party going on behind them.

These murmurs of sound sounded like music, actual real music. Lyrics and everything, not the classical music playing at the Senator's party that everyone pretended to like but actually hated.

With the hand that wasn't being 'held' by his, Jenny gestured outwards. Down the intricate wound wrought-iron staircase, that led from the second floor balcony to the ground, and out across the sea of black.

"Does 'being ready' have to do with _that_?" Jenny asked indicating the lights in the distance, her voice no more than a whisper. A whisper seemed to fit the setting more than a yell, just like holding Mr. Gibbs' hand seemed to fit more than letting go and shuffling away awkwardly.

"Yep," Gibbs grunted and without further ado started to descended the winding staircase, pulling her along with him. They made it to about the third step down before Jenny decided not to tempt fate anymore, and tugged on Gibbs hand.

He was a step below her and had to tilt his head slightly to look at her over his shoulder. The flight of stairs were _that _steep and-.

"Slowdown," she rebuked. When he simply stared at her, she reached down with the hand that wasn't captured by his, to gather a handful of her flowing dress. She bunched up to above her knees, gesturing to her six-inch stilettoes.

-_and _her six-inch stilettoes.

Combined, none of that was actually conducive to traipsing down stairs.

With a nod of acceptance he turned around and continued. This time a bit slower, and all the time being prepared for a weight falling on his back when _Ms. Shepard _eventually caused them to fall and break their necks.

Needless to say, they made it down the stairs without any broken bones. And-ignoring the deeds that were being committed in behind their backs in the shadows of the stairwell-without looking back and wasting no time Gibbs started down the gently sloping hill. Jenny tripping and stumbling across the dewy grass beside him.

Wet blades of grass clung to their shoes as they made their way blindly across the lawn. Well-more like Gibbs strolled, and Jenny was the one following blindly.

As the ate up the distance between themselves and the copse of trees, Jenny wondered what she could possibly being getting herself into. After all, even if she was capable of protecting herself, she was out here alone. None of her security detail knew where she was-or that something was wrong _if _something _did _go wrong-and she didn't _fully _trust the man guiding her.

And could anyone blame her?

She didn't trust the FBI Director that dressed up as a security detail so that no one noticed him. This was a man that apparently prided himself on holding a prestigious position and yet staying invisible in the process.

If he was dragging her out here in some elaborate attempt on her-she _was _the Director of NCIS-she didn't carry anymore. And, Mr. Gibbs was a pretty well built man, she couldn't take him on hand-to-hand.

Her eyes stayed glued on the salt-n-pepper head that gently bobbed with his strides up ahead.

If he was dragging her out here in some elaborate scheme to kill her and ditch her body where no one would find her. No one would even know that he'd been here.

"You're burning holes in the back of my head. Relax and have a drink."

The unopened bottle of bourbon in the hand that wasn't holding hers, was thrust out behind him.

If he was going to murder her, it made sense that she might as well be drunk for it.

Snagging the bottle, the cap cut against her lips when she used her teeth to pop the top. Gripping the neck of the bottle, she eyed it in distain-scotch really was her poison of choice.

"Stop glaring at it, and just drink. It won't kill you," his voice rumbled out through the dark. It was...comforting. The deep, soothing sounds, now that she really gave herself a chance to listen, and blocked out the sounds of the lyrics they could just now make out. His voice pushed away the encroaching things of night, and wrapped around her like a warm blanket.

"Peer pressure much," she muttered. And-out of as much of a need to escape the feel of his hand and voice-as the 'peer pressure'. She tilted her head back and took a large swig of the amber liquid.

What felt like liquid acid _seared _down her throat.

Her reaction was immediate.

Yanking her hand out of his grasp blindly, coughing, spluttering, and still grasping that damn bottle she doubled over. Trying to breath in between her choking gasps, she vaguely heard Gibbs soft footfalls turning and coming back to her.

Gibbs took the bottle of bourbon from her, suspiciously he brought it up to his nose and sniffed. Nothing smelled off...except for the fact that the senator bought cheap liquor...

Realization dawned on him, chuckling he asked her, "How much did you drink?"

Quicker than he could react her slim arm came out and whacked him in the stomach.

"Ooof," Gibbs grunted.

"I bet you won't laugh next time, you bastard," she gasped out when she saw him doubled over also out of the corner of her watering eye.

Gibbs just silently nodded, his eyes tightly shut. She saw him shaking slightly, with pain or suppressed laughter she didn't know. Nor did she think he wanted her to know if he valued the area around his groin.

When she could finally breathe again without coughing up liquid fire. She eventually straightened herself out.

...Mr. Gibbs was still doubled over...shaking...

_'Did I break something...?'_ She wondered after a staring at him for a moment. She was hesitant as to what she should do...after all if one Director breaks another...Who do you report it too?

"...Gibbs?" She called too him softly, reaching down and placing a gentle hand on his trembling back.

On weak knees he straightened himself out, towering over her in the dark. He struggled to hide his twitching lips_..._

"...You bastard!" She screeched, and for good measure reached out and popped him a good one in stomach once more.

_'He had the nerve to laugh at her!' _

No one had laughed _at_ her in a longtime.

Against her will, she felt her cheeks heating up. It wouldn't have been so bad if he had chuckled a few times then left it at that. But instead he was downright, _unashamedly _laughing at her!

She prayed that their steadily darkening surroundings would keep him from noticing.

"Aw, there's no need to get embarrassed. It's an acquired taste."

Well that blew one hope to hell and back.

A feeling she hadn't felt in a while..._embarrassment _prickled at her and made her feel out of place. People-_usually_-respected the Director of NCIS enough _not _to laugh at her, or pretend they even noticed, if and when she did anything embarrassing.

In the...what-_thirty minutes?_-she'd seen this man face to face, she was starting to realize that he tended to defy the things she was used to.

Her eyelids fluttered and she felt like a kid getting rebuked by his parents. All shifty with restless feet, twisting hands, and eyes that were glued to the ground she tried her best too melt into the night and just disappear.

"Hey," he said in a more gentle voice, all traces of humor suddenly gone. A rough fingertip slid under her chin, and with a little prompting her tilted her face up to look at him.

"It's really okay," he reiterated looking her in the eye earnestly. Or at least...she _thought _he was looking her in the eye, it was kind of hard to tell with those stupid shades he had on.

Yeah, what was up with those? They were freaking outside..._at night._

He tapped her chin, reclaiming her attention to what he was saying.

"It _is _an acquired taste," he grunted, his voice dropping an octave.

The blush he could barely make out flushing her porcelain skin, caught his attention. And it took considerable restraint not run his fingers over her soft cheeks.

And the strange thing was, her mind was going there too. His little saying, that it's an acquired taste...seemed to somehow apply to more than one context...at least in _her _mind.

"Um-well, I-we're going to miss the party," murmured Gibbs.

"..Isn't the, uh-party, back there?" She rasped, jerking her thumb over her shoulder.

"Yeah," his finger fell away from her chin and her rubbed roughly at his forehead. Turning away from her, and not looking back he used the hand that wasn't holding the uncapped bourbon to grab hers again.

They started off once more, him dragging her again.

"Just c'mon," he ordered.

* * *

It took a few incidents of stumbling over a few large tree roots that poked out of the ground for them to get where they were going.

And boy was she in for a shock.

The lyrics that had been jumbled sound, she was now able to make out. The lights that had just been an indistinct blur, she could make out being twinkling artificial lights strung up in the surrounding trees.

"Wow," she breathed.

"Yeah," Gibbs said in a totally unimpressed tone.

In this little clearing that was hidden from the main building, along with artificial lights and music coming from some unidentifiable place. There were people-at least fifty of them-people that were oh so different from the people in the party behind her.

These people-they weren't fat sweaty senators with trophy wives on their arms-she doubted the people she was looking at were politicians at all. Some of them...looked exotic, even from the tree line she could make out a few visible injuries on a few people, and yet everyone of them looked dangerous.

They all looked like-the men in their dark tuxes and the women in their body hugging dresses (instead of full skirted ball gowns) alike-were friends of Ziva. Sultry, dark, and dangerous she-a politician herself-stood on the sidelines with the other politician that had brought her here, and watched. Some of them danced to the mysterious pop music, some of them stood in pairs talking, some stood on the sidelines like herself, and yet-something she just happened to notice-everyone seemed to have a drink in their hand.

She was feeling some..._Dirty Dancing _deja vu. Though even in her slightly bourbon _tortured _mind, she didn't see Patrick Swayze back from the dead.

_...A loss on her part..._

A thought occurred to her just then. Something she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer too...

"Did all of these people get an invitation," she knew she sounded like a stuck up bitch asking that. But it stood to reason that if they had, then they wouldn't be out here in the cold of a DC night-unless they were gate crashing.

She looked at the figure standing beside her out of the corner of her eye, and she made a mental note that he looked far too at home here. While she was sure she stuck out like a sore thumb.

"Oh they did...just not in the way you or I did." Gibbs assured her, a smirk apparent in his voice.

"Okay then," she drawled, taking it all in stride.

"Why did you drag me out here?" Turning fully to him, she saw that his eyes were stuck on a figure in the small gathering but he answered her anyway.

"You said you wanted to make contacts. _Those_ people in there," he turned his head towards them and indicated the party behind them. "They aren't the type of contacts you want. _These_ people," he indicated the wide array of people in front of them.

"They are the type of contacts you _need_." His head swiveled back around to the figure he'd been staring at. Her eyes followed him, and she tried to ignore the twisting in her gut when she realized what...or _who _she was staring at.

On the edge of the makeshift dance floor stood a dark-haired, exotic beauty. And how could Jenny blame Mr. Gibbs for staring? This mysterious exotic beauty who wore a blood-red curve hugging dress...

Her gut twisted when she couldn't get his attention.

In a slight huff that she didn't want to admit too. She turned back to..._glare_, the good mood that she didn't want to admit to being in-because of..._him_, was officially gone.

Mr. Gibbs took a step forward towards the mysterious woman...

Yep, that good mood was _obliterated_.

Just when she was about to stop him and give him a piece of her mind. After all could anyone blame her for being a little bit offended for being dragged out here then, _left_.

He turned slightly, and an opened almost full bottle of bourbon was being thrust at her chest.

"Have a drink," he ordered as she caught the bottle, "and go dance or something."

He turned and continued, getting lost in the sea of people he fit so well into.

"No thanks Gibbs, pop music really isn't my type." She muttered in a bitter sarcastic fit to herself.

For a lack of anything else to do, she took a more moderated swig of the amber alcohol. The slight burn this time was relished, she turned in a different direction then the one Gibbs had disappeared too.

She took another _smaller _swig, and moved in the general direction of the 'dance floor'.

The politician that almost didn't seem like he wanted to be a politician had brought her here with advice on how _to be _a politician.

So that was exactly what she was going to do-_be _a politician.

* * *

_Lights flashed by in blurry streaks._

_She twisted._

_The lyrics of the music had long ago become indistinguishable. But that was actually okay, pop really wasn't her favorite._

_She spun._

_Some random unidentifiable person decided they were going to dance beside her._

_She bumped and grind in suggestive dance moves. _

_The Director of NCIS was dancing in the middle of a makeshift clearing party, in the dead of night. Doing moves she was barely aware of, and it was all because of an empty bottle of bourbon that had been abandoned somewhere in the grass._

_She was drunk, completely and utterly smashed._

_Mr. Gibbs had disappeared with that...skank, and since then she'd seen brief flashes of him in the crowd talking to different people. But as the amber liquid in the bottle he'd so graciously given her, had started dwindling she become less and less concerned for where he was. _

_At some point she'd been dragged (or maybe she went on her own) out onto the 'dance floor', and had started moving hesitantly. Yet, the hesitance along with the concern had completely disappeared the farther away from sobriety she became._

_Even if her body was deliciously numb and tingly, she felt when the hands that had been holding her hips from behind-vanished. _

_In her blurred-at-the-edges line of sight, Gibbs appeared. His silvery head of hair just one splotch of color, and for some reason (maybe it's because of the grim line of his face) she figured he was the cause of the vanishing hands._

_His form wobbled slightly-him or her she didn't know-and larger hands then the ones that had been holding her hips, clasped on her sides. Above her hips this time, his hands slid slightly against the silk of her dress._

_He pulled her to him, halting her dancing. Making her lie still against his chest, and this time (unlike in the ballroom)-even in her drunken state of mind-she was well aware of their physical positions._

_The dancing left her panting delicately on his neck. The scent of bourbon clung to her, and though it was most likely a major turnoff to most men. It made him want to ravish her..._

_And yet it was also evidential proof of what would keep him from acting on that-even in his...slightly less than sober mindset._

_"You're drunk," he accused._

_"So are you," she argued. She wasn't the only one that could smell alcohol. Though to be fair it could be coming from her..._

_"Barely," other people he wouldn't have bothered arguing this with. He was more powerful than most people, heck-he was technically more powerful than her._

_Still he didn't bother to tell her to mind her own business. He didn't bother to push her off on her security detail, and go find a woman he could leave with. A woman that-unlike her-was invisible to the rest of the world._

_He knew a lot of women like that, and still it was Ms. Shepard he was holding against his chest. It was Ms. Shepard whose delicate flush was transfixing him once more._

_It was Ms. Shepard he'd just met in person for the first time._

_It was Ms. Shepard who he had basically stood up._

_Grant it, he was slightly more confident that he might have a shot with her. She hadn't seemed too terribly mad that he'd stood her up. It might've had something too do with the shadow that had been hanging over her all night._

_Maybe that was why he'd brought her out here. She needed to loosen up some, and she couldn't do that with all the stuffy suits around. And she may hate him for it in the morning, when she was drunk. But now, watching her twist and turn, her red hair glinting in the light and flying like a halo around her..._

_He was brought back to the present when he felt something lightly patting his chest. He looked down at the drunken woman whose hand was currently petting/patting right over his heart. She looked up at him with clouded eyes._

_"What are you thinking about?" She breathed._

_The corner of his mouth twitched, even if he wanted too he couldn't regret his decision to bring her here._

_"Nothing," he dismissed her. _

_She gazed up at him, concentrating on something...that made her look unbelievably cute. _

_...Yeah...maybe he had one glass too many..._

_"You?" Two could play at this game._

_"Take those damn shades off," she wanted too see his eyes...on blurry screens he could've had chocolate brown orbs for all she knew._

_She was betting he had brown eyes..._

_Surprisingly willing, he slid the glasses away from his face, and keeping his eyes hidden he folded them into the inner pocket of his jacket. In her mind it happened in slow motion when he turned to look at her..._

_An involuntary breath escaped her, because Mr. Gibbs-Gibbs...didn't have chocolate brown orbs._

_He was looking at her with the most piercing blue eyes she'd ever seen._

_Gibbs' warm hands slid to her back._

_He was holding her against him._

_She was drunk._

_He was inebriated._

_La Grenouille was haunting her dreams again._

_He'd held her hand._

_Her pulse had stuttered._

_She barely knew him._

_"Kiss me."_

_A sparkle brightened the set of sapphires that seemed to pierce her soul. And without thinking-on either of their parts-the distance between their lips closed._

_She decided right then and there, that she loved his eyes-and his lips._

* * *

She didn't know how they got out of the clearing.

Or how they'd gotten into a limo. She thought, maybe it was hers. It was most likely hers, considering Gibbs' seeming determination to deny the fact that he could utilize the benefits of being a director he most likely didn't come in a limo.

She hoped it was hers, and that it was her security detail driving it...

Gibbs gave an address, and she didn't take the time to ask if they were headed to a hotel or his house. She only took the time to make sure the privacy glass was erected. Before loosening the bowtie around his neck.

He let her.

She didn't know if the press had caught their drunken stumble across the lawn. She didn't know how many senators were currently gloating in the victory of their newfound blackmail knowledge.

She didn't know where Ducky was. Or how he was going to get home.

His tongue took possession of her mouth.

_'Who was Ducky?'_

After what seemed to be five minutes in her mind, the limo pulled to a halt. And without waiting to traumatize a well meaning chauffeur by letting them open their door, Gibbs had the presence of mind to grasp for a door handle.

The tumbled out, and he was sure they were a sight. Her, already with mussed and sweaty hair, and missing an earring. Him, with his bowtie undone, his jacket hanging off one shoulder, and his shirt halfway unbuttoned...

She felt him pulling her along, she stumbled on the hem of her dress because of her heels. And she was sure there would be one great long rip in it in the morning.

In the portion of her mind that still cared about her public image, she was mildly concerned about where they were at. But she didn't think she could-she didn't _want _to pull away from the mind-numbing feeling of his mouth on hers to see about something so..._trivial_.

She pushed him back against something solid, a door? A wall? For all she knew they could be about to have sex against the wall of some abandoned building.

Noises that signaled fumbling, and Gibbs pulled a hand away from her curves. She heard a click, and the resistance against his back gave away.

Scratch the abandoned building theory, it was safe to assume they were at his house. Though she didn't know where he lived...for all she knew he could've been her next door neighborhood.

Their was a buzzing in her ears, and next thing she knew she was being down. Her back hit cushions.

Yeah, she didn't really care where the hell they were...as long as he got this dress off of her in the next thirty seconds...

* * *

The tripped through the doorway, and he briefly considered trying the stairs.

She could barely walk as it was, and he wasn't all too steady on his feet either. And, she-well...was currently in the process of divesting him completely of his bowtie and jacket.

The couch was closer.

He guided her around the coffee table, their mouths were still locked at the lips. And he wondered if the burning in his lungs meant he was forgetting to breathe...

But her tongue was gliding against his, and there were still corners of her mouth he'd yet to explore...

Blindly, they fell against the couch. He was pretty sure that the back of her head had hit the arm of the couch, but she didn't seem to care.

He found his thigh wedged in between her legs, on the fabric of her dress. Using extreme willpower, he ripped his lips away from hers. Gasping in lungs full of fresh air, he opened his eyes.

Their she was, spread out under him. Her red hair spread out against the brown of his one single throw pillow, her skin flushed a more brilliant pink than the embarrassment, dancing, or alcohol had managed. Her painted red lips, were beautifully swollen, and her smoky eyes were tightly shut.

"Mmmmmm," she moaned, if it was because of the lack of contact-he didn't know.

One arm went up over his head and clutched at the sofa over her head. Maybe he more than a little drunk because he swore the sight of her white knuckled fingers were the sexiest thing in the world.

_'But what the hell is getting her off? I haven't even touched her!'_

Then he felt the rocking against his thigh.

Apparently while he was busy pondering life's problems like an idiot, she'd been rubbing against him. Not so much against his will, he grinned. From the looks of it she was _this _close to her release.

He shifted his leg away from her.

"Mmmmmm," this time it was a frustrated groan. He watched as her eyes popped open, and hands clutched at _his _hips. His hips were pulled tightly against hers, and he had to catch himself with his hands on either side of her head.

"You bastard," she hissed, they were nose-to-nose. How many times had she'd called him a bastard since they'd known each other? "Don't tease me."

"No foreplay?" He asked innocently.

"We're drunk. We don't have to have foreplay."

"Yes ma'am," he'd hate to be under her command at work.

Well...not if she was giving orders like this...

Enough pondering, his lips smashed against hers. And without any fanfare his tongue re-took possession of her mouth. Her hands went to clutch at his shoulders, and his mauled her covered breasts.

Her legs detangled themselves from the mess of her dress, and wrapped themselves around his waist. His hands glided down her body, to the point where she obviously wanted him. Hitching her dress around her waist, he couldn't help but moan into her mouth at the feeling of her smooth inner thighs.

He considered-for a moment-at least taking the time to take off her dress completely. But then one of her hands moved to clutch his hair, and she whimpered in need.

Her hips rocking against his, and all thoughts off dragging this out left his mind totally. Under her dress, he felt the thin straps of a thong. He was betting it was red, she seemed like a red type of woman...

To slide it off her legs meant to unwrap her legs from around his waist, and that wasn't something he really wanted to do. He sent up a half-meaning pray to whatever deity that had put him in this position, that she wouldn't mind the ripping of her underwear.

The tattered remains of lace landed on the floor of his living room.

It was then he realized he was missing something.

Her little white teeth were biting down on his bottom lip, and one of her small hands were fumbling at his belt buckle. He had a beautiful woman wrapped around him and yet...

His pants were slid down by her, the gun holster on his belt made them pool around his ankles. Only his plain black boxers and a certain missing..._action _stood in their way.

A warm hand tried to worm it's way under the waistband.

He stopped her.

Clutching her wrist, he pulled back from her lips. Her grip tugging his hair slightly, and he waited until her eyes fluttered open to look at him. She blinked at him owlishly, her head cocked to the side.

With the serious way he was looking at her, she half expected him to admit he was a virgin or something.

"I can't-," he looked like he was concentrating on something, "dammit I can't-I can't...get _it_ up."

For a moment she was about to ask _what _he couldn't get up.

Then-it hit her.

Oh somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized it was mean. But without thinking she burst out..._giggling._

Even in her drunk state of mind she tried to stifle her laughter, her face even turned beet red with the force of efforts. Only problem was, what she was trying to stifle her laughter in-was...Gibbs' shoulder...

"It's not funny!" He exclaimed.

"Sure it is," she couldn't help it..., "you _are_ an old man!"

He pulled back from her, sitting on his knees he was sure he looked ridiculous. His..._manhood _was twitching, and throbbing, but no matter how much he wanted it too...

He couldn't get it up.

He really wish he hadn't drunk that extra shot of bourbon.

Still she had the decency to look slightly abashed, she squirmed under his intent gaze. But he didn't say anything more, after a second of silence she couldn't help another giggle.

"I'll show you old man," he muttered.

Her arm was back over her head and she was trying to muffle her laugher in the relaxed arm. He moved the fabric of her dress back out of the way, and without checking if she was ready for him or not he slid a finger into her.

Her relaxed arm tightened and she slid white knuckles to knot in her hair, he other formed a claw on the side of the couch. Her breathing hitched, and this time instead of muffling laughter-it was a moan of shock and pleasure.

He didn't give her time to adjust, she was already warm and slick. But her warmth and wetness intensified when he stretched her farther with a second finger.

"Oh," her back arched off the cushions when his next thrust was at a quite pleasurable angle.

Sweat beaded on her forehead, and he wanted her naked. He wanted her naked so he could see if that flush was on every part of her body and not just her face and neck.

"Harder," she begged. Speeding up a bit he waited for his 'little friend' to hopefully make an appearance, yet in the meantime he might as well get _her _off...

He added a third finger, and curled his fingers to hit that spot that was _just _right. Her hips started snapping up uncontrollably, and her eyes seemed to fight the need to close.

He twisted his entire hand.

He could literally feel her walls tightening around him.

His thumb found her clit.

And she broke.

* * *

He went through the ground floor of his house, making sure lights were off, but in all fairness just delaying the inevitable.

Directly above him, a redheaded woman lay a in rarely used bed. And yet he was standing in his living room, staring out the window over his couch at the limo still parked on the street.

Her security detail would be staying the night, and when his found them. _Two _security details would be staying the night.

His grandfather clock struck midnight.

It was midnight, he had a sleeping warm woman in his bed. And yet, he was standing here debating if he was going to spend the night in the basement.

It would make things easier, wouldn't it? If he was in the basement come morning.

Or would it make things easier for himself in the morning?

Headlights flashed as a car turned down the street. And he made his decision.

He could've turned around and headed down into the basement to get even more smashed. But instead he made his way into his foyer, turning to the stairs. Just as he was about to mount the first step, he remembered something.

Turning, with quick strides he made his way back to his front door. He paused for a moment, feeling as if he were on the verge of something monumental while he glared at the simple doorknob.

In one decisive move he locked the door.

Not giving himself time to ponder on just what that action meant, he made his way up the stairs. He was exceptionally cautious as he made his way down the hallway to his bedroom. He doubted he would wake...Ms. Shepard, but he didn't want to take the chance.

He paused in his doorway, and before entering he took the time to slide his shoes off. On stocking feet he entered his room.

Just like the sun did during the day, the moon shone as equally brightly through his bedroom window on the woman laying on top of his covers. He let her be for the moment instead he made his way across the room into his en-suite bathroom.

Softly he shut the door behind him, and flicked the light on. Standing in front of his old bathroom mirror, he took in his ragged appearance.

He looked as if he'd just had a tumble in bed, instead of a...half...sort-of...tumble on the couch.

A world-weary sigh, with deft fingers he undid his cufflinks. Then moved onto the three or four buttons that were still miraculously done. His bowtie, jacket, belt, and holster were somewhere in the living room, along with Ms. Shepard's thong. Before climbing the stairs with a drowsy redhead in his arms, he'd pulled his pants back up.

Now he undid the zipper, his socks along with his pants and shirt littered the tiles of his bathroom floor.

Dressed only in his boxers, he flicked the light off, and opened the door again. Going by the light of the moon, he padded softly across his room, over to his closet.

After a moment of hesitation, he took one of his old FBI shirts off a hanger, and made his way over to the side of the bed he had laid Ms. Shepard on. Making sure not to wake her he sat down on the edge of the bed, and thought about what he was going to do for a moment.

He wasn't going to do anything creepy, at least-he didn't think it was creepy. He just didn't think she would necessarily find it comfortable to sleep in that dress and heels.

She was lying on her back, and in one smooth maneuver he got her to where she was sitting propped up against the few pillows he had on his bed. Her dress was still hitched around her waist, and after exploring the back and sides for a zipper or a line of buttons. He simply gathered the material of her dress in his hands, and started to pull it up over her body.

He'd reached the underside of her breast before she stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering as she came a bit more into consciousness.

"Arms up," he prompted. She complied, and he finished sliding the dress over her head and arms. After a moment of deliberation he tossed it across the room so that it landed in his simple chair in the corner of the room.

He had to hold back a laugh at the way her arms fell limply back to her sides, the way she looked at him. It was as if she were a sleepy, pouting four year old instead of a forty something year old.

Though the fact the only thing she was still dressed in was silver four inch heels, one hoop earring, and a minimal scrap of a bra. It kind of...thankfully ruined that image...

He deliberated on whether or not to take her bra, on one hand it seemed kind of creepy to go and take her bra off. But considering her thong was ripped on the living room floor courtesy of him, he figured taking off one more piece of clothing wouldn't be so bad.

For the first time tonight, he was glad he was drunk. Otherwise the sight of her in her lingerie would be so arousing, he didn't think he would be able to keep from waking her up to take her properly.

He snatched up the shirt he'd gotten out of the closet, and bunched it up again. Her bra had joined the dress in the chair, and now it was time to try and _re_-dress her.

"Arms up," he said again. She groaned in annoyance at being disturbed, but raised her arms slightly in compliance.

The old, soft cotton, T-shirt reached her knees. And he could already see goosebumps appearing on her arms and legs from the lack of warmth in his house. Quickly, he flicked off her other earring and tossed it into the chair with the rest of her stuff, and moved down to her feet. Fingering the delicate straps on her shoes, it took a second for him to fumble the clasps off on both.

They joined the other stuff in the chair.

Standing up, he reached down and scooped her up in an awkward embrace with one arm. While the other pulled the covers backs, laying her down he covered her up again.

In a hazy mindset she turned on her side and snuggled the pillow that was suppose to be his.

"Oh no you don't," he murmured. Walking over to his side of the bed he slid under the covers himself, "scoot," he ordered.

"Go to hell," she muttered.

He smirked, and yanked a section of the pillow for himself. Their faces were inches apart, and yet he didn't feel the need to throw an arm around her. She didn't try to initiate any, and therefore neither of them had to endure the awkward first-time post-coital cuddling. He watched in amazement as her soft breathing started to even out.

He tried to fight the urge to fall asleep himself.

"I wanna take you to dinner," he commented casually.

"M'kay," she agreed sleepily.

"Night Jenny."

"Hmmm."

For the first time, in a long time. He fell into a dreamless sleep. His last thought was that he hoped she remembered this in the morning.

* * *

_A/N: So the first half of this and the last little part has been spellchecked. But the rest of it-not so much. I'm replacing the first few chapters with some minimal switches but other than that. Later when I throw up the next chapter I'll replace this one with some changes. Sorry but I figured it gives me some incentive to update sooner. _

_Oh yea and I have a Polyvore account and I've been making little sets for each of the chapters. So if any of you are interested in that let me know in the reviews and I can get it posted in a link somewhere. I'd let you know in the chapter_


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